Footsteps on Hallowed Ground
by MaverickLover2
Summary: With his brother Bret shot dead in Dodge City and buried on Boot Hill, will Bart Maverick take his revenge on the murderers or turn it over to the law?
1. Train to Oblivion

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 1 – Train to Oblivion

The telegram had come out of nowhere, when he'd been up for almost forty-eight hours with only an hours sleep here and there. He'd left instructions not to be disturbed, but when a telegram like that comes in you don't wait until later to deliver it. Matt Dowling had the unenviable task of taking it up to Bart Maverick's room, and it took a long time to rouse the gambler out of the deep sleep he'd finally fallen into.

"Mr. Maverick. Mr. Maverick. Please answer, Mr. Maverick."

Matt kept knocking at the door. He knew its occupant was in the room, and he had to wake him up. "Please, Mr. Maverick. I have an urgent telegram for you."

Finally a sleepy voice called "minute," and in just about that time a man answered the door. Unshaven, rumpled, no socks or boots, he looked like the last person in the world you wanted to disturb.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Maverick, but this is marked 'Extremely Urgent.' I had to get it to you right away. "

Even though he was still more asleep than awake, he pulled a coin out of his pocket and handed it to Matt. "Thanks," or something like that was mumbled, and Matt gave him the telegram and fled. He'd peeked at the message on the paper and had no desire to be anywhere in the vicinity when the gambler read it.

Bart was still so wrapped up in the throes of sleep that he couldn't focus on the wire in front of him. He closed and locked the hotel door, then slumped back down on the bed. Maybe he should just leave the telegram unread until he'd had a few more hours sleep. Whatever it was would wait that long, wouldn't it?

Something told him the answer to that question was no, so against his better judgement he opened the wire and read it. Then he shook his head to make both his eyes and his mind read it again. And again. And again. Then he threw the paper on the floor and hurried to get dressed. Sleep was forgotten. He grabbed his travel bag and stuffed his clothes in it, not bothering to fold anything, just shoving it in as quickly as it would go. In less than five minutes the whole bag was packed and he was dressed and running down all twenty-six of the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him.

He stopped at the front desk long enough to scribble a note to George down at the livery stable and left it, along with ten dollars, in an envelope to be delivered as soon as possible. He ran for the train station, knowing there was a train headed east at eight thirty, and he had to be on it. He bought a ticket that would take him all the way through to Dodge City, Kansas. He boarded and found a seat, and knew that he could go back to sleep; he had a long train trip in front of him. He couldn't have been more wide awake.

The telegram lay on the floor of the room he'd so hastily vacated until his almost business partner came looking for him at six o'clock that evening. The man, a well-known local business owner and a good friend of Mavericks, convinced Matt to give him the key to the gamblers room and he climbed the stairs to see if he could determine why Bart left in such a hurry, without a word to anyone other than George. Everything was in disarray, just as it was left that morning, and the mystery deepened until the discarded telegram was discovered on the floor. The businessman picked it up and read it, and everything was immediately clear. The telegram said:

 _Bret Maverick killed in gunfight_

 _Burying him today_

 _Chris Hillis, U.S. Marshal_

 _Dodge City, Kansas_

He folded the message and put it in his pocket, then went downstairs and paid Bart's bill and checked him out of the hotel. The last thing he did was leave instructions that any and all communications coming in for or from Bart Maverick were to be forwarded to him. Then he went home and told his fiancé, and they prayed it wasn't true.

XXXXXXXX

Bart sat on the train, mile after mile, hour after hour, and did nothing. The telegram had to be wrong. Bret would never allow himself to end up in a gunfight with anybody, much less someone in Dodge City, where you were either a card sharp, gunfighter, outlaw or lawman. Or some combination of the above.

His mind was empty, devoid of all rational thought, and drifted in and out of all topics, but he kept coming back to one – the absurdity of it all. Bret wouldn't draw against anybody if there were any other way out of it. He hated using a gun and was the self-professed second slowest gun in the West.

And what was his brother doing in Dodge City, anyway? Last time he'd heard, Bret was in El Paso, and that was less than a month ago. What lured him to Kansas? Bart wasn't aware of any big poker games, and as far as he knew Bret wasn't chasing or following a particular woman. Last time that happened he was home in Texas – but that was water under the bridge, finished months ago when she found someone willing to risk marriage. Bret wasn't. Back to the problem at hand.

Finally he drifted off to sleep, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. Then the nightmares started. One after another, always ending with his brother lying dead in the street. He woke every time he got to that point but kept going back to sleep because there simply wasn't anything else he was capable of doing. The delusions of death ceased at long last and he simply drifted in a haze of doubt and uncertainty.

The trip was endless. He couldn't eat, and once he'd slept more than a few hours there was no more of that available to him. For once in his life there was no desire to touch a deck of cards, not even to play Maverick solitaire. Reading anything was out of the question. He had no interest in looking like anything other than a saddle tramp, not even bothering to shave. The only thing left for him was to stare out the train window, day and night, and reflect on his brother. And there was so much to think about. How many times had the older of the two saved his hide? What if Bret hadn't come to drag him and Doralice Medina back from probable starvation? How long would he have wondered around Arizona thinking he was Doc Holliday if not for Bret? What if Bret hadn't been there to carry him out of a burning house in New Mexico?

And even earlier than that – what about all the times Bret reassured him at night during his nightmares, holding and comforting like a father would have, should have? Or tended to him when he had a fever and got sick, like a mother, if they still had one? Or coaxed him off the sunken log he'd gotten trapped on, floating in the river and headed downstream with nothing to stop it?

For days on end, he sat at the window and watched the landscape change. Plains and deserts and hills and mountains. Then there was no more change, and it was Kansas, and flat was the only thing that existed. Land so level you could have eaten off of it. When the train finally pulled into Dodge City he resembled so many others that had arrived via horse or train or stagecoach – dirty, unshaven, bleary eyed, and thoroughly miserable. The difference was Bart Maverick had a dead man to contend with: his mother, father, and best friend. The news that had finally broken his heart.


	2. Circumstances

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 2 – Circumstances

It had been a rotten week. It started when Maverick was killed by Robert Hinkel in another shoot-out and went downhill from there. Then Doc came to him and gave him the note he found in Maverick's wallet, and he'd had to send the telegram to the brother. He'd been waiting ever since for another arrival by a grieving relative, but so far nobody claiming to be named Maverick had shown up in his office.

Then on Tuesday Mary Clennon had arrived and claimed that Hinkel was demanding 'protection' money from her, and she had none. Everything she owned was tied up in the newspaper her husband left her when he was murdered. The paper had yet to sell and she had no money to pay protection with, and no intention of paying it anyway.

Wednesday brought another shoot-out, and this one resulted in one dead and one jailed. Thursday was quiet until the bar fight, and three drunken cowpokes spent Thursday night sleeping it off. Friday and Saturday were typical, step in and break it up before they beat each other to death nights. Sunday was no day of rest in Dodge City, and the latest train from the West had pulled in earlier today. So when the door to the office opened and another saddle tramp in need of a shave made his way inside, Chris Hillis steeled himself for more trouble.

Instead what he got was a man who looked like his best friend just died. He was dusty and unkempt and desperately needed a shave. Marshal Hillis looked at the man's hands – clean, well-manicured, hands that didn't punch cows or string barbed wire. A gambler, maybe? And then he hazarded a guess. "Mr. Maverick?"

The figure in front of him nodded. "Bart Maverick. You sent me a telegram about my brother Bret." The voice was flat, the eyes dead. This was a man in pain.

The marshal stood up and offered his hand to the stranger. It took a minute, but Bart Maverick finally shook hands. There was no energy or life-force in the handshake. "Cop of coffee?" Hillis asked.

"No, thanks," Maverick answered. "What happened?"

No wasting time with niceties, just straight to the point. "Your brother got into a gunfight with Robert Hinkel. Maverick lost. Plain and simple."

The gambler looked him right in the eyes. "Gotta be more than that. Bret didn't even like wearing a gun, much less using one. What caused the gunfight?"

"It's a long, involved story, Mr. Maverick. You look like you're worn out. Why don't you come back after you've had a chance to get settled, maybe get somethin' to eat?"

"No. What caused the gunfight?" The voice stayed the same, but the eyes flashed rage. This was not a man to mess with when he was angry, and Marshal Hillis had a feeling he was way beyond that.

"Alright. Your brother called Hinkel a murderer. I'm sure that's true, but Hinkel took offense and told Maverick if he wasn't willing to take it out in the street Robert would shoot him where he stood. Maverick accommodated him. End of story."

"Bret agreed to a gunfight? Just like that?"

"That's what all the witnesses said."

"How many of those were there?"

"Several," Chris answered. "Of course, they were all Hinkel's friends. But Mary Clennon was there, and she didn't dispute the story."

"Who's Mary Clennon?"

"Widow of the newspaper publisher. He was killed about a month ago. She's been runnin' the paper, tryin' to sell it ever since. Got a little boy, about seven or eight years old. Your brother claimed to be a friend of Taylor Clennon's. That's probably what started this whole mess."

Maverick just sat there and Chris wondered how much he'd heard. The gambler finally looked up from the floor and the question was as simple as the others had been. "Where can I find Mrs. Clennon?"

"Newspaper office, other side of the street, three doors up."

"Thanks."

The gambler got up off the chair like an old man. _'He must be the older brother,'_ thought the marshal. _'I wonder what he's after.'_

Bart walked out of the marshal's office and caught a glimpse of himself in the glass. _'You better go do somethin' with yourself, Bart. You'd scare . . . . . . . .'_ he stopped himself, he almost thought _'your brother.'_ Didn't have one of those anymore. He sighed and walked down the street, instead, to the barber.

Half an hour later he looked better, even if he didn't feel better. He walked back up the street, crossing it in front of the marshal's office and entered the 'Dodge City Herald'. He barely glanced at the young man sitting at the front desk. "Mary Clennon?"

"Can I tell Mrs. Clennon's who's here to see her?" the young man asked brightly.

"Bart Maverick," came the reply.

The desk's occupant jumped up. "Yes, sir, right away." He hurried to an office in the back of the room and disappeared behind a closed door. After a minute he reappeared and waved Bart toward the office.

Behind a desk much too big for her sat a petite brunette. He took off his hat and sat in the chair in front of the desk. "Mary Clennon?" he asked for the second time.

"Mr. Maverick," she answered as she nodded her head to his question. "You are . . . . .were Bret's brother?"

"Yes, ma'am. Bret was friends with your late husband?"

"He was, Mr. Maverick. May I call you Bart? Taylor and Bret knew each other from Kansas City. Before Taylor and I were married. My husband worked in a saloon while he was learning the newspaper business. Taylor stopped a cowboy when he pulled a gun on Bret one night. After that they got together whenever Bret came through Kansas City, then Dodge when we met, married and moved here."

"I see. Did Bret just come through Dodge City this time?"

"No. There's been some trouble here recently, and Taylor asked Bret to come and . . . visit." Mary Clennon stopped talking, and Bart said nothing. After a few minutes she continued. "Bret came, but Taylor had been murdered by the time he got here."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Clennon. What happened after that?"

"Mary, please. Bret stayed to see what he could find out. Nobody knew who'd killed Taylor. He was found one morning here in the office, shot to death. Bret opened a can of worms, I'm afraid. He met with Marshal Hillis last week and Chris told him he still didn't have enough evidence to arrest Hinkel. That's when Bret took matters into his own hands and called Hinkel a murderer. I assume you know the rest."

Bart folded his hands, leaned forward and looked down at the floor. "I know what Hillis told me. I'd like to hear it from you."

She could hear the pain and grief in Bart's voice. "Are you sure you want to hear that?"

Bart nodded without raising his head. "Yes, ma'am, I need to hear it."

Mary sighed. She'd told this story so many times already, and it never got any easier. "I was in the general store. Hinkel came in and started to insist I owed him money for the 'protection' he'd been providing the newspaper office. I told him he was a fool if he thought I was going to pay him. The only thing Taylor left besides our house was this newspaper. Bret came in just as Robert grabbed my wrist and insisted I come up with the money. Bret hit him and called him a murderer. The next thing I knew they were out in the street shooting at each other. It was a fair fight, Bart."

He raised his head and looked at the woman sitting on the other side of the desk. "No, Mary, it wasn't. Bret would never get into a gun fight if he could help it. Even if his life was at stake."

"Circumstances change people, Bart."

"Not my brother. There's somethin' you're not tellin' me." There were one or more pieces missing to this puzzle. And if Mary Clennon couldn't or wouldn't tell him, he'd find out for himself. "Do you know where Robert Hinkel can be found?"

"I suppose it wouldn't do any good for me to ask you to leave it alone?"

"No, it wouldn't."

She sighed. "One of three places. 'Sassy Sally's,' 'Jake's,' or 'Whiskey Pete's.' 'Jake's' more than anything. Are you going after him? Am I gonna watch another Maverick brother buried?"

Bart winced at the question, then stood up without answering and left the office. It was time to go put on the professional gambler.


	3. The Play's the Thing

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 3 – The Play's the Thing

He'd had time to think. He'd had nothing but time to think. He'd finally given some attention to his clothes, but only because they would be needed for the parts he might have to play. He had a bath drawn and washed off the dirt and grime from the trip, washed off the pain and joy in his life, and just left the outer shell. He was dead inside, and couldn't foresee resuscitation. His brother was gone and there was nothing left within him but the need to know what happened and who to kill.

After he got dressed, he looked in the mirror. Anybody that didn't know him would say "Yes, that looks like Bart Maverick, a professional gambler." That's the illusion he wanted to create, as he prepared to go find the man that was responsible for all this.

He went to 'Jake's' first. It wasn't hard to find the saloons; after dark they were the only lights in the town. 'Jake's' was big and old, the first saloon built in Dodge City. And loaded with potential trouble. Bart walked through the batwing doors and looked around. Most of the poker tables were full, and there were cowpokes and saloon girls everywhere. He saw a spot at the bar and ordered a whiskey. He needed something to steady him while he investigated the place.

He found a table he liked and asked to join the game. As usual, he was welcomed in and within an hour of sitting down knew who everybody was and what they were doing in Dodge City. And had heard all he wanted to hear about Robert Hinkel.

Madigan, the cowboy to his left, had nothing but praise for the gunslinger. "He's got a regular bunch that runs with him. He treats 'em all real fair. They seem to think a lot of him. Word is you can make a lot of money workin' with Hinkel."

Rafferty, sitting to his right, had a different opinion. "He's a bully and a liar. He steals everything he can from honest, hard-working people just trying to get by. And he'll kill anybody that gets in his way."

Bart wasn't going to press for information the first night he was in town. There was no time deadline for this hunt; it would take however long it took. He got a description from Rafferty: Tall, blonde, dark eyes, ambidextrous, quick temper. Enough to get started on. After playing for about an hour, Bart bid good-night to the table and left 'Jake's.'

His next stop was 'Sassy Sally's' and as soon as he walked in he knew he'd hit pay dirt. Hinkel was holding court at the bar, surrounded by a cadre of men that looked like his band of disciples. They were loud and raucous, and Bart quickly found a poker game with a view of the group and joined the game. He kept one eye on the cards and another on the bar, studying the tall blonde man like he usually studied poker. Consequently he gave less notice to the game than he should have, and found himself losing with winning hands. He ordered another shot of whiskey and forced himself to pay closer attention to the game. He won three straight hands and hoped he was back on track. He still had a decent amount of money from the last town he played in, but it never hurt to make more just in case he needed it for something.

Three of the men playing against him decided they'd had enough for the night and the rest of the table went the same way - out the front door. Bart sat at the now empty table and played with the glass of whiskey he'd ordered but had yet to drink.

"You gonna drink that or make love to it?" a new voice asked. Bart looked up to see a man he didn't know. Medium height, middle-aged, with glasses sitting on the end of a very prominent nose. A banker or a doctor was Bart's guess, and he forced himself to smile at the man.

"You lookin' for somebody?" he asked.

The man pulled out a chair and sat down, close enough so that he could be heard without shouting. "You wouldn't happen to be named Maverick, would you?"

Bart took a better look at the man. ' _Doctor,'_ Bart decided. The fellow reminded him of Doc Washburn in Silver Creek. "Could be if there was a good enough reason," he answered after a long pause.

A hand was thrust at him to shake. He took it and felt a good, firm grip.

"I'm Marvin Walters. Doctor Marvin Walters. I'm sorry about your brother. I liked Bret."

Bart nodded. "Everybody does. Did. That's gonna take some gettin' used to."

Doc Walters nodded. "Don't get too used to it too fast."

An odd thing to say, but Bart didn't feel like asking why. Instead, he posed another question to the doctor. "How did you know I was a Maverick?"

"The resemblance," the doctor answered. "You do know how much you look like him, don't you?"

Bart's breath caught in his throat. They looked alike when they were children, but no one had told him that in years. Especially since Bret looked . . . . had looked just like Pappy, and he didn't.

Doctor Walters saw that he'd hit a nerve. "Sorry. I've always been good at sayin' the wrong thing at the right time. I saw Marshal Hillis earlier and he told me you'd finally gotten here. You gonna stay for a while?"

Bart nodded. "For however long it takes."

"However long what takes, son?"

"To get everything squared away," Bart answered quickly, trying to lead the Doctor down a different path than the one he'd started down.

"I've got some things that belonged to Bret. You wanna come by tomorrow and get 'em?"

Oh, God. Bart hadn't thought about Bret's possessions. He got hold of his emotions as fast as they'd started to get away from him. "Where's your office, Doc?"

"You been to our illustrious barbershop yet?" Bart nodded. "Two doors down from that. I'm there after eight o'clock. Come on in any time and we'll sit down. I'm sure you've got questions. We can go over everything you want answered."

"Sure. One time better than another?"

"Nope. I'll make time, whenever it is you get there. I gotta go now. I should be in bed asleep. Pleased to meet you, son. I'll see you tomorrow."

They shook hands again and Doc Walters was gone. Bart looked at the glass of whiskey, still in his hands, and put it down on the table. He stared up at the bar. More than half of Hinkel's group was gone, and the gunslinger was leaning on the bar talking to one of the girls. He probably should call it a night and try to get some sleep. Or at least lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. He pushed his chair back and got up to leave just as Hinkel let out a laugh. _'Laugh now,_ ' Bart thought, _'you won't be laughing long.'_

He made his way out into the night air, pulled a cigar out of his coat and looked for a match. A light appeared out of the dark, and he lit the cigar before looking at the man that held the match. It was Hillis.

"So that's the way it's gonna be, huh?" the marshal asked.

"What way is that, Marshal Hillis?" Bart wanted an answer from the Marshal. He needed to find out if Hillis was actually following his line of thinking or was just guessing.

"Revenge for a dead brother?"

Okay, the marshal wasn't stupid. Something to keep in mind for the future. "I don't believe in revenge," he offered in reply.

"Justice, then?"

"Your word, not mine."

The marshal lit his own cigar. "You never asked, but your brother's buried up on Boot Hill."

"I figured as much," the gambler answered. "Which direction?"

"North. Take the road about half-a-mile and turn west. You can't miss it. It's – "

"Up on a hill. I would've guessed that."

"You seem like a reasonably intelligent man, Mr. Maverick. Don't make me arrest you for something."

"That won't be a problem, Marshal. I have no intention of doing anything illegal."

' _Worded very carefully,'_ thought Hillis. "See that you keep it that way, Mr. Maverick."

"I will, Marshal. I will. Good-night."

The marshal watched the gambler walk down the street, and could see his continuing progress south by the glow of his cigar. A few minutes later Hinkel appeared outside and pulled the already lit cigar out of his mouth, blowing smoke towards the marshal.

"Hillis."

"Hinkel. Got somethin' planned for the new week that I oughtta know about?"

Hinkel laughed. "Now, why would you wanna know what I was up to, marshal? You gonna try to change my mind about somethin'?"

Chris Hillis shook his head. "Nope. Just wondered if you had plans to kill anybody this week."

"Say now, maybe I oughtta start a list. That's a good idea, marshal. You got any desire to be on it?"

"Don't threaten me, Rob. We've known each other too long. Anytime you wanna test my patience, I'll be happy to oblige you. Go back to your hideout and leave these poor folks alone on a Sunday night, would ya?"

"Why sure, Marshal. Glad to oblige. By the way, who's your new friend?"

There wasn't any reason not to tell the truth. Hinkel would know before morning, anyway. "That's Maverick's brother."

"Maverick, Maverick, oh yeah. The one that tried to kill me last week. Am I gonna hafta shoot him, too?"

"He says he's not lookin' for trouble. Why don't you just let it be, Rob? Just for once?"

Hinkel laughed again. "Sure, Chris. Live and let live, I always say." The laugh was evil, and menacing, and continued as the gunslinger walked back into Sally's.

' _What a worthless piece,_ ' thought the marshal. _'I hope Maverick was serious. We got enough brothers up on the hill.'_

From further down the street Bart put his cigar out and observed the exchange between the marshal and the murderer. Just by watching them he could tell there was no love lost between the two. Good to know. It might come in handy later.


	4. Against All Odds

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 4 – Against All Odds

The rest of the night passed just as it had in Montana when he spent the time on a chair at the window. Sitting alone in a dark hotel room staring out into the black night – waiting for something, anything to happen. Bret wasn't dead and gone, he was alive and well and living inside Bart's head.

At daylight, he changed out of his gambler persona and put on all black traveling clothes. Bret teased him, asking whose funeral he was going to. "Shut up," was his only response. He went downstairs to get coffee and tried to remember the last time he'd eaten. It didn't seem important until he caught a whiff of bacon, and he realized he was hungry. With nothing better to do this early, he sat down and ordered bacon and eggs. When his breakfast came he ate, even though food still had no taste. It was just something necessary to keep him alive.

He pulled out his pocket watch and stared at it. He couldn't read the time at first; when it finally came into focus the time was half-past eight. He paid for breakfast and left the dining room, then the hotel, and walked down the street towards Doc Walters office. He was not looking forward to this visit.

The office was open but empty. Bart called out "Doc," as he entered, and the physician came scurrying out from behind a closed door. His coat was off, his sleeves rolled up, and he was totally disheveled. He was wiping his hands on a towel.

"Mr. Maverick, good morning! Go on in my office, behind that door. I'll be there in a minute." He pointed to the other door and Bart went in. It sure didn't look like Beckham Dooley's office in Montana. It looked more like somebody's house, only it held a desk instead of a table. There was a full-size settee in one corner, about four feet away from the fireplace. Bart took a seat in front of the desk and waited. In less than five minutes the good doctor came bustling in, his coat now back on and his hair combed.

"Sorry about before. Tommy Fletcher broke his arm early this morning and I was finishing a cast. Why is it only boys break bones? Are girls smarter than we are? Well, never mind. Sorry for the rambling, I always do that when I'm nervous."

That was the second odd thing that the doctor had said since last night. He let this one pass, too. "Doc, I can't stay here if you keep calling me Mr. Maverick. The name is Bart, please."

"Okay, Bart. I can do that. Don't you have another brother, named Beau or something like that?"

As usual, Bret had probably explained their entire family to Doc Walters. "Cousin, Doc. Beau's our . . . . my cousin. Did Bret tell you about Pappy and Uncle Ben, too?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes, and the 'sister' in Montana. We had dinner together several times. He knew all about my family, too."

Bart chuckled at the memory of his brother always talking about family. Then his breath caught as he realized he'd never hear those stories again. "You have some things for me?"

"Right here, son. I kept everything he had on him. You sure now's a good time?"

Bart shook his head. A headache had started; he hadn't had one of those in a long time. "There's never gonna be a good time, Doctor. Let's get this over with."

Walters nodded; he hated having to do this to the man sitting in front of him. Cruel and brutal, but necessary. He pulled the box out from under his desk and picked up the gun belt. There was no gun in the holster.

"We couldn't find his gun. I have no idea what happened to it. Maybe one of Hinkel's men picked it up. But I kept the gun belt, just in case." Bart took it and set it down on the floor, at his feet. Next Doc pulled out Bret's pocket watch. It looked almost like Bart's own watch, but he took his out of his pocket and replaced it with Bret's. His went on the floor, next to the gun belt.

"His wallet," Doc announced, and Bart shuddered. The wallet he took from Doc had 'Bret Maverick' engraved on the outside, just as his said 'Bart Maverick.' Pappy had them made up and presented to each on his eighteenth birthday. He left the wallet sit on the desk.

"There were three things inside the wallet that I looked at briefly to see what or who they went to. The first was his money – almost fourteen hundred dollars." He handed that to Bart, who quickly slipped it inside Bret's wallet and placed both in his jacket pocket, next to his own wallet.

"Second is this," and Doc passed along a picture of the brothers that Bret had kept for years. He looked at the photo for a long minute, remembering the day it was taken. Neither was too happy about being drafted, but Pappy was trying to put a good face on it by having the photographic image done. It was a picture of a young Bret Maverick with his brother, both in Confederate uniforms. Bret had his arm around Bart, who was saluting the photographer. That was the photo Bret showed to Bart in Arizona when he was trying to explain that his name was Bart Maverick and not John Henry Holliday.

"This last one I'm gonna give you and go finish up Tommy's cast. I'll be back." Doc handed him a folded piece of paper and left the office, closing the door behind him. It was a letter from Bret, written to him.

' _Dear Bart – If you're reading this then I've gone on ahead of you. Hopefully we're both old men, but if not I'm sorry that I left too soon. I'm sure our lives have been good because we wouldn't have it any other way. I'll be waiting here when you decide to join me._

' _I don't know if I ever told you this or not, but you're my hero. You have been ever since you were a little boy and fought off every illness that came your way, when it would have been so easy to give up. How many times have you come back to us when the odds were against it? Montana, Santa Fe, Mexico, Arizona, and how many others that I don't even know about. Every time you beat the odds and just kept going. If I've got any sons I hope they turned out just like you._

 _I love you, Brother Bart, and always will. I'll be up here with Momma. Can't wait to see you again. You're the only brother now. Bret.'_

Bart folded the letter back up and set it down. _'Damn you, Bret Maverick,_ ' he thought. _'Why'd you have to leave me alone?'_

He sat there for long minutes, wondering what he was going to do without his rock, his anchor, his brother. Nothing would ever be the same again. No more footraces to see who could reach the river first, no more falling for the coin toss with Bret's two-headed coin, no more watching his brother and knowing exactly what devious scheme he was thinking up now. _'Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you send for me? I would have dropped everything to come help. You knew better than to get into a mess like this alone. You should be here now, telling me what to do next, even though I already know. If one of us had to go, it should have been me. Is this what I get for cheating death so many times? He couldn't get me so he took you instead?'_

He was still sitting there, staring blankly straight ahead, when Doc Walters came back into the room. He picked up Bret's letter and put it inside his wallet. That's where it would stay the rest of his life.


	5. A Den of Vipers

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 5 – A Den of Vipers

Bart walked back to the hotel carrying Bret's gun belt and his own pocket watch. And a heart so heavy with grief that he almost couldn't bear it. There was a telegram waiting for him at the desk and he took it with him, intending to read it in private.

' _Checked you out of hotel_

 _Sorry about Bret_

 _I want to help'_

It was unsigned, but he knew who it was from. His almost-business partner in Reno. He dropped it on the bed, along with the gun belt and watch, and retrieved Bret's wallet from inside his jacket. He ran his thumb over the engraving and felt the indentations in the leather. _'Bret Maverick.'_

' _Snap out of it, Bart,'_ he thought to himself. _'You've got work to do.'_ He put the wallet back in his jacket and left the room, determined to gather as much information as possible today. He stopped at the front desk. "Where's the general store?"

"Up the street on the left, four doors past the Marshal's office," the desk clerk told him.

"And the livery?"

"On past that, same side of the street, about a block further."

"Thanks," he told the clerk, and flipped him a coin, then went back out and up the street. He checked in at the store first, puttering around the giant business until the last customer exited. "You the owner?" he asked the man behind the counter.

"No, sir that would be Mr. McVerney. Did you need him for something?"

"Yep, I need to see him, is he in?"

"You work for Hinkel?" was the clerk's next question.

"No." Bart shook his head.

"Back in the storeroom." He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled "Boss! Somebody to see you!"

Bart walked towards the back of the building and found a doorway that led to a storeroom. There he found Mr. McVerney, a cheerful smiling fellow of about forty. Average height, average weight, curly brown hair and bright blue eyes. He stuck out his hand and Bart shook it. "I'm McVerney, Mister - ?"

"Maverick. Bart Maverick."

There was an immediate change in McVerney. His face became dark and sober, somewhere between scared and terrified.

"You related to the one that got killed last week?"

A nodding of the head. "His brother."

"I didn't have anything to do with it!" McVerney exclaimed, backing away from Bart.

"No, sir, I understand that. I just want to ask you some questions, if that'd be alright."

"You really Maverick's brother?" the owner asked suspiciously.

What were these people so afraid of? "I'm really Maverick's brother," he replied, pulling out his wallet with 'Bart Maverick' on it and showing it to the man. McVerney took it and looked it over carefully, rubbing the engraved name to make sure it didn't come off. Bart almost laughed at that; Pappy would be mortified after he'd spent as much as he did to have the engraving done in real gold.

"Convinced?"

The store owner nodded his head. "Yep. That costs too much to be fake."

"Then will you answer my questions?"

"Long as you know I'll deny it if anybody ever asks if I said it."

"Fair enough. What happened last Monday?"

"Well, Mrs. Clennon was in buyin' supplies, and Hinkel and his bunch a ruffians come in and he started to aggravate her, ya know? Told her she owed him protection money from when Taylor was alive, and she better pay him if she didn't wanna find the newspaper office all tore up. She basically told him to go to hell, she didn't have any money until the paper sold. He was gettin' real nasty like and finally grabbed her by the arm. That's when your brother came in."

The bell on the front door rang as someone entered, and McVerney backed up further into the storeroom so he couldn't be heard out front. "You bein' followed?"

"No, Mr. McVerney. What happened when Bret came in?"

"Your brother asked all polite and nice like, but with a real firm tone in his voice, 'Turn loose of Mrs. Clennon, Hinkel'."

Bart could just hear Bret's voice in his head. He had a way of saying something in words that sounded friendly but a tone of voice that would put hair on your chest. "Did Bret hit Hinkel?"

"Hit him? Oh my goodness, no. Hinkel wouldn't let go, and Maverick said it again, only a little louder. Then he made his mistake. He laid his hand on Hinkel's arm, and Hinkel growled something at him that I couldn't hear. Your brother was just standin' there smilin' like he usually did. He told Hinkel to turn loose one more time, and the gunslinger finally let go. Then Hinkel pointed his gun at Mrs. Clennon and said 'Outside, or I'll kill her right here'."

"And Bret never touched him?"

"Nope, just the hand on the arm, real peaceful like. Hinkel had the gun cocked and ready to shoot Mary if your brother wouldn't go out into the street. Maverick didn't argue with him, just looked at Mary and went outside. I ran to the door and followed 'em. Once they were outside Maverick kept tryin' to reason his way out of it, but one a Hinkel's men had Mary by the arm and had a gun on her the whole time. Your brother never had a chance. Hinkel's the fastest draw I ever seen."

"Why didn't you tell this to the Marshal?"

"Cause Rob Hinkel woulda killed me before I could even swear it was the truth. I got a wife and two little ones to support, Mr. Maverick. I can't take the chance. You won't find nobody in this town has the stupidity to stand up to Rob Hinkel and his gang. Not one. Your brother was murdered just as sure as my name's Sam McVerney, and not a dang thing nobody's gonna do about it."

"Thanks, McVerney. I'll remember, you never said it."

At first he was going on to the livery, but he looked across the street at the 'Dodge City Herald' and walked over there instead. Today the young man that was here yesterday had been replaced by an older woman with a pleasant smile. "Yes, sir, may I help you?"

"Bart Maverick to see Mrs. Clennon, please."

"Will she know what it's regarding, Mr. Maverick?"

"Two dead men, ma'am."

The smile disappeared and she scurried back to Mary Clennon's office. She was back out in a minute, looking somber, and told Bart, "Go right on in, Mr. Maverick."

Mary Clennon was just where she was yesterday, lost in the expanse of the desk. "Bart, back so soon? Do you have more questions for me?"

He sat down and smiled at her, playing it differently than he had on his previous visit. "Only one, Mary. Why did you lie to me?"


	6. Boot Hill

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 6 – Boot Hill

"Lie to you? I didn't lie to you!"

"Yes, you did. Bret never hit Hinkel. He drew against the man to save you."

She put her head in her hands. Without looking up she said, "You talked to Sam."

"Why, Mary? Why lie to me?"

"Because Robert Hinkel is a stone-cold killer and I have a seven-year-old son."

"And you thought I wouldn't understand that?"

She finally raised her head to look across the desk at the brother of the man that had saved her life. "I couldn't take the chance. Robert made it clear that if we didn't back up his story about what happened – I couldn't take the chance."

"What kind of a stranglehold has he got on this town, Mary?"

Before she could answer the back door to her office opened and a little boy ran in. Tall for his age, especially in light of his mother's petite stature, he was a good-looking youngster, brunette like his mother, with her brown eyes. He stood beside Mary and glared at the man he'd never seen before. "You one of Hinkel's men?" he asked, apparently aware of things no seven-year-old should have to worry about.

"Matty! This is Mr. Maverick, Uncle Bret's brother."

' _Uncle Bret?'_ Bart extended his hand towards the child. "Hi, Matty, I'm Bart."

Matty shook Bart's hand solemnly. "I miss Uncle Bret. Him and Daddy. Did you know my daddy?"

Bart had to shake his head 'no.' "No, Matty I didn't know your father. But I sure knew Uncle Bret. And I miss him, too."

The child looked at him curiously. "Does that make you Uncle Bart?"

Bart gave a genuine laugh. "I guess it does, Matty. I guess it does."

"Ok. Momma, can I go next door and play with Sally Jean? She's got a brand new puppy."

"Yes, you may," Mary Clennon told her only child. "But don't you dare go any further."

The boy turned back to Bart. "Bye, Uncle Bart!" and ran out the way he'd come. Mary watched him until the door was completely closed.

"Well, you've met my reason, Bart. That's why."

Bart sighed. His question had been lost by the entrance of Matty Clennon, and he didn't ask it again. Everybody had a reason for their subterfuge, but his brother was still dead.

"Bart, come to dinner tonight. Get to know Matty. I'll tell you more about Taylor and Bret. And I can get out of this awful place." There was pleading in her voice and eyes. Maybe she would answer his question when she was at home and not in the location where her husband died.

"Alright, Mary. When and where?"

She smiled, pleased that he'd accepted her olive branch. "Eight o'clock. I'll have Matty meet you here. The house is just in the back, and he can take you through the office rather than the long way around. I'll see you then."

"Yes, ma'am." He tipped his hat and got up. Before he left the office, he looked back at the woman behind the desk. She was still smiling.

XXXXXXXX

He'd been riding Noble so long that another horse felt . . . . . uncomfortable. Even if it was Bret's horse. Fitting, somehow, since he was headed out to see Bret. Or rather a grave where his brother's body resided. His spirit seemed to have taken up residence in Bart's mind, and the younger Maverick wasn't about to evict it.

The road was old and damaged, full of ruts and holes. He rode in silence but his head was working overtime. What was this business about 'paying protection?' What kind of a hold did Rob Hinkel have over the people of Dodge City? And why didn't Marshal Chris Hillis do anything about it? Why was Taylor Clennon murdered and by whom? What had Bret discovered that made him so dangerous?

He was paying little attention to where the mare was walking and he almost missed the turn for the graveyard. When he headed her that way she shook her head and whinnied, as if saying "no." "Gotta go see Pappy," he told her, using the affectionate name he'd thrown at Bret whenever Bart deemed him too fatherly.

The hill appeared in front of him, with its dozens of crosses, markers and gravestones. It was impressive and startling. The sky had darkened and a storm loomed overhead, threatening to spill her deluge down at any moment. Bart didn't care; it wouldn't be the first time he'd been rained on, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

He dismounted and tied the mare to the gatepost entrance to the burial ground. It was easy to find the grave – mounds of fresh dirt were piled up on it. Bret's was the last interment on the hill.

A chill went up Bart's spine. There was a plain wooden cross at the head of the grave, with 'Bret Maverick' printed on it. _**'NO'**_ was the prominent word in Bart's mind. _**'NO, THIS IS WRONG. IT CAN'T BE.'**_ He forced himself to walk closer. Even the rumbling in the heavens had silenced as he approached his brother's final resting place, and all he could hear were his own footsteps on hallowed ground. His mind revolted, his stomach rolled, and his hands shook. He became aware of that when he reached up to take his hat off. There was no one around, and as sobs wracked his body, he fell to his knees at the foot of the grave. Then without further warning the thunder cracked and the lightning flashed, and the rain began to fall in torrents. He howled in pain like an animal, much as he had in Mexico, the night he remembered Millie Ridgeway and everything he'd lost. That agony seemed minor in comparison to what he felt now.

He sobbed for long minutes, and he kept repeating over and over "No, no, no, no, no, no." All the love, admiration and gratitude he'd felt for his older brother his whole life spilled out on the earth, and the emotions he'd held in check from the moment he first read the telegram in Reno until now fell on the grave. The wind wailed and he keened right along with it until every shred of feeling he possessed was drained from his body, and he had no more tears to shed. He collapsed across the wet earth and lay on his brother's grave until the rain stopped and nighttime blackness fell.

At last, when he became aware he could stay there no longer, he raised himself from the ground and got to his feet. His body walked back to the horse tethered at the gate, but his soul stayed at the burial site, and he knew there would be no peace for him until he killed Robert Hinkel.


	7. Shattered Glass

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 7 – Shattered Glass

Clean clothes and a shave did wonders for the outside of the man, the shell that still existed. Nothing short of a Lazarus-type resurrection could save the rest of him from the hell it resided in, and there was no hope of that. As expected of him, he walked to the 'Dodge City Herald' offices a few minutes before eight o'clock and knocked on the door. A small voice called "Who is it?" and he answered by rote "Bart Maverick."

Matty unlocked the door and let him in, then locked it behind him. "Hi, Uncle Bart" the boy greeted him and didn't seem to notice that Bart didn't return the greeting. Bart started for the rear of Mary Clennon's office, remembering that she said the house was straight out her back door, but Matty didn't move from the front door, seemingly fascinated by something outside. Bart waited for a minute and then said impatiently, "Come on, Matty," but still the child stayed put.

Bart walked back to the front of the offices, intending to pry Matty loose and continue through the short-cut, but when he got back to the child, he froze. There were two or three of Hinkel's men milling around in the street right in front of the newspaper, and Bart knew instinctively there was trouble coming. He grabbed Matty by the shoulders and pulled him to the floor, covering the boy with his own body to protect him. Just as they hit the ground gunfire broke out courtesy of the men in the street, and all Bart could do was lay there and pray, trying to make sure Matty was safe. The hail of bullets continued for two or three minutes, until he heard Chris Hillis's voice outside, yelling "Drop the guns!" and firing his own volley of shots at the fleeing outlaws.

Before he had time to do anything besides roll off Matty, Mary Clennon was inside the office, crying and wrapping Matty in an embrace. She hugged the boy to her tightly as Matty looked at his protector and said "You sure ain't heavy, Uncle Bart."

Bart got to his feet, brushing glass off of him, and unlocked what was left of the front door. Hillis finally got back and entered the office, asking "Is everyone alright?"

Bart nodded ascent and Matty looked at his mother. "Momma must be hurt, she's crying."

Mary shook her head 'no.' "I'm fine, honey," she told her son, then turned to Bart. "I saw. Bless you."

"What happened?" the marshal asked cryptically.

"Whatta ya think happened?" Maverick snapped back, more than tired of Hillis playing dumb. He knew exactly what happened, and they both were aware of that.

"What were you doing here at this time of night?"

"I met Uncle Bart at the shortcut," Matty explained to the marshal.

"Uncle Bart?" Hillis repeated. "That was quick, wasn't it?"

"Mary, leave me the keys and take Matty home. I'll be there in a few minutes," Bart suggested to the still frightened mother. She nodded agreement and handed the keys over, ushering Matty out the back door and leaving the gambler and the marshal alone in a pile of broken glass.

Bart turned back to the lawman as soon as he was sure the Clennons were gone. "What's your problem, Marshal? I'm the one that almost got shot."

"You've gotten awfully chummy with Mary and the boy, haven't you?"

"And that would be any of your business how?" He saw the change in the man's face and it dawned on him. Hillis was in love with the widow.

"Just tryin' to do my job, Maverick." The marshal mask slipped back into place. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

"Matty let me in and I spotted Hinkel's men.. I got a quick look at 'em and figured what was comin'."

"And had the good sense to protect the boy."

"That's right."

"Could you identify 'em? Well enough for me to arrest 'em?"

"Nope."

"Been here long enough to learn that trick too, huh?"

"You mean the 'I saw nothing' trick the rest of the folks in this town know?"

"That would be the one," the marshal agreed.

"Let's get this straight, Hillis. Anybody that runs with Hinkel is just like him, far as I'm concerned. And if you wanna know what my attitude towards him is, just stick around and watch. If I could identify them, I would. Would you please leave so I can lock what's left of the door and go eat dinner with the Clennons?"

The Marshal gathered himself and said nothing further. He might have been doing his job, but it was a poor one at best as far as the gambler was concerned. He didn't anticipate any help from the law in this town. Bart locked the door and went out the back, locking that one behind him, too. Mary Clennon was right, the little house stood not ten feet behind the newspaper office. Pretty convenient for whoever ran the paper. Bart thought about the widow's words concerning her husband's death. "Nobody knew who'd killed Taylor. He was found one morning here in the office, shot to death." With the house that close to the newspaper, how could Mary not have heard a gunshot or shots?

The door opened before he could knock. Mary stood with a broom in her hand, then walked outside with it. "Come here, you're full of glass. Let me brush you off." Bart followed her off the little porch and out onto the dirt, where she gave him a good brushing down. As a finishing touch, she reached up and pulled a piece of glass from his hair. "Now, you've ben de-glassed. Come on in, supper's ready. Matty wants to tell me all about how you saved him from getting shot and he's been waiting for you to get here before he starts."

Bart was sure he'd left every bit of emotion he had at Boot Hill today, but he found himself relieved that the boy was safe and hadn't been hurt. He held the door open for Mary and followed her in, and within a few seconds had a seven-year-old-boy wrapped around him. "Uncle Bart, you saved me!"

"Easy, Matty," Bart told the boy as he tried to disentangle him. "Your mother saw what happened. She says dinner's ready. How about we eat first and then you can explain it all?"

"Ok. I'm hungry. Bein' saved works up an appetite."

Even Bart had to laugh at that. He walked Mary to her seat and pulled out her chair for her, Matty watching everything he did. "Just like Uncle Bret," the boy announced.

A stab of pain flashed through Bart, but he did his best to ignore it. "We learned the same lessons, Matty. To be polite, to always help a lady, to treat others the best way you knew how. I'm sure your daddy knew all those things, too."

The little boy nodded. "He did. My daddy was a smart man, just like Uncle Bret."

"Sometimes Uncle Bret was a smart man."

Mary served a venison roast and mashed potatoes and some kind of vegetable that Bart had never seen before but was willing to try. He found it quite good actually, and Mary called it 'greens.' It had kind of a tart taste and it provided an excellent contrast to the venison. And homemade biscuits. Matty had to relive the whole shooting incident at dinner, and when they had examined everything several times he finally turned to different subjects. School was discussed, which led to reading, and Bart told Matty all about Charles Dickens and the books he'd written. The youngster decided that 'David Copperfield' sounded the most interesting, and Mary told him to be sure and put it on his Christmas list.

From there the talk migrated to reading the Bible, and Bart was surprised to discover that Mary wasn't so sure about letting Matty read the book at such a young age. Bart finally explained that his Momma had taught him and Bret to read by using the Bible and that he still carried his mother's Bible with him. Mary looked at him with new eyes. A professional gambler that read Charles Dickens and the Bible. Would wonders never cease!

"Bret never talked about reading the Bible," Mary told his brother.

"That's because if it wasn't printed on a dollar bill, Bret didn't read it," Bart explained. Mary laughed and Bart shook his head. "No, I'm serious. All Bret wanted to know about was poker and money. When we had lessons from Momma I read the Bible and Bret read 'Poker According to Hoyle'. After Momma died, I started reading from Hoyle, too."

"How old were you when she died?"

"I was five, Bret was Matty's age. Life got real different after that."

Matty started to fidget at the table and Mary finally told him, "Tell Uncle Bart goodnight, Matty. It's off to bed for you."

The boy didn't argue. "Yes, ma'am. Goodnight, Uncle Bart. Will you be here tomorrow?"

"I will, young man. Count on it. Goodnight, Matty."

As Matty left the table, Bart helped Mary gather the dishes. "Oh, and he helps clear the table, too," Mary kiddingly remarked. "You'll make somebody a great husband."

"No, I won't. I'm not cut out for marriage."

"How do you know if you haven't tried it?"

"I did once. Not again." Bart hoped she'd let the subject go. He had no desire to explain the second unhappy time of his life.

But it was not to be, at least not on this night. "Did she break your heart?"

"No, Mary, she died."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Bret never told us that."

He could hear Bret in his head, _'Not my tale to tell.'_ "He didn't know too much about it."

"Would you rather talk about something else?"

"Yes. Tell me more about Taylor."

"That will require coffee. Would you like some?"

"Yes, ma'am. That would be good. Thanks."

Mary poured two cups of coffee and they took them into the main room, settling down in front of the fireplace. "I'm not keeping you from anything, am I?"

"No," Bart answered. He thought about Robert Hinkel. "Nothing that won't wait."


	8. Buttoned Up

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 8 – Buttoned Up

Bart stayed at the Clennon house until almost midnight; it was a pleasant change to hear stories about a happy marriage. Not that Taylor and Mary's was perfect, but they'd loved each other and their son, and they made it work. Until recently. Something evil crept into Dodge City, and it affected not only the newspaper but the marriage. Bart got the feeling its name was Robert Hinkel.

He began to understand this could take longer than expected. Bret had been here long enough for the townspeople to start to trust him, and Bart might have to play the same cards. If that was the case he was going to need to stay someplace besides the hotel; that appeared too transitory. Mary Clennon had a spare room and no money to speak of coming in. If he could rent the room from her, it would solve both their problems, at least temporarily. Mary was agreeable to it, and arrangements were made for him to move in the next day. Matty was so excited he was almost beside himself. 'Uncle' Bart would be at dinner every night.

Marshal Hillis came down to the newspaper office in the morning to see if he could learn anything further about the attempted shooting if that's what it was. He was of the opinion it might be nothing more than an endeavor to persuade Mary she should pay for 'protection'. He was most unhappy when he heard of the plans to move Bart into the spare room, and he didn't hesitate to express his opinion.

"I'm tellin' you, Mary, the man is trouble. Nothin' but trouble. And another gambler to boot. I don't think it's gonna be good for your son, to have that kind of man around."

"I'm sorry you don't think it's a good idea, Chris, but it solves a problem. I have to do what's best for me and Matty, and I think this is."

Hillis knew he wasn't going to change the widow's mind, so he gave up. That was the reason for the dirty look he gave Bart when he was leaving and Bart was arriving.

"What have I done wrong now?" the gambler asked.

"Breathe?" came Mary's answer.

"Probably. I just came by to find out if it's too early for me to move my things in."

"No, it's not," she decided. "The room is clean and put together, you're welcome anytime."

"Good," Bart told her and stepped back outside to retrieve his bag. "I had a feelin' you'd say that."

"Go on through," she told him. "The house is open."

He went out the back door and across the alley, into the house. The bedroom on the left side in front would be his, and Mary was right. It was clean and ready to be occupied. He re-hung his clothes and arranged everything to his satisfaction, then returned to the office. "All moved in."

"That was quick," she remarked. "Anything you need?"

"Yeah, was Bret doin' anything while he was in town other than snoopin' around?"

"He was," Mary replied. "He was working as a dealer at Pete's. That's all I know. But surely you aren't going to do the same thing?"

"No, ma'am. Not if I can get a job at Sally's instead. Who owns the place?"

"Orin Johnson. But he's not the one that does the hiring. That would be Sally Bodeen. The Sally of the name."

"Aha. Makes sense. And just what is Miss Bodeen like?"

Mary made a face. "If you're a woman – prickly. If you're a man – accommodating is the word that comes to mind. Be careful with her. She gets real possessive real fast, and Orin seems to think she belongs to him. She doesn't have the same opinion."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Bart made sure when he dressed that he looked like he knew his way around a saloon. The kind of man you'd want working your tables. Now he knew he better be extremely charming, on top of it.

He walked down to 'Sassy Sally's' and asked to see Miss Bodeen. He was told she would be happy to see him, but it would be just a few minutes if he would wait. The last time he'd heard those words was in Texas, waiting to take Maude Donovan to breakfast. He smiled to himself. Some things didn't change. Ah well, he had the rest of the day. This time it really was only a few minutes and he was called into the back office.

"Well hello, handsome," came a voice from behind the dressing screen in the corner. "Did you come in just to brighten my day?"

He grinned at the screen. "Just what part of your day would you like brightened, Miss Bodeen?"

"Oh, honey, you have no idea. How do you do with buttons?"

"Opening them or closing them?"

"Ah ha ha ha ha," and she followed the laugh out from behind the screen. Sally was about thirty-five, buxom and blonde. A handsome woman. She was in a peach gown and was about half buttoned up in the back. "Can you help with these?"

Bart threw his hat on the nearest chair and stepped up to Sally's backside and her unfastened dress. He ran his fingers up her back and leaned over to murmur in her ear, "Are you sure you want it buttoned?"

"No, not sure at all, but I think you better, handsome. You got a name?"

"Bart," he answered.

"Bart? Just Bart?"

"Maverick," he replied.

"And what can you do, Bart Maverick?"

He buttoned the last button and his lips brushed the back of her neck. "What do you need done?"

She turned around and took a good look at him. "Roulette? Faro? Poker?"

"Any and all."

"Let's go out in the gaming room."

He followed her into the gambling hall, where she took him to the roulette wheel. "Spin for me."

He grinned at her. "Bet for me."

So she did, and he ran a 'game' for her. Satisfied, she tested his knowledge of faro the same way. Last came poker, and the first thing she did was open a deck and shuffle the cards, then deal them each a hand for five card draw. "Well?" she asked.

He just smiled at her. "You dealt me a straight hand, but you dealt three of your cards off the bottom of the deck. One off the top, then your last card came from the bottom again. I would say you have a full house at the least."

Sally's turn to smile. She laid her cards down. Three kings and a pair of tens. His hand held nothing.

"I need a floor manager. Somebody that can oversee everything. What do you drink?"

"Coffee, black."

"Always?"

"Always."

"Can you start tonight?"

"What time, boss?"

Sally smiled again. "Eight o'clock. Until four in the morning. Does that work for you?"

"Sure. Anything special you need?"

"You got a hideout gun?"

"You bet."

"Be sure you wear it."

"You have a lot of trouble in here?"

Sally smiled. He caught on quick and she liked that. "Not a lot, unless Hinkel's bunch is in here. Can you handle that?"

"How does his bunch get treated?"

"Like anybody else. Rob's got no special standing here."

"You sure?"

She nodded. "What makes you think he would?"

Bart worded his answer carefully. "Because he seems to everywhere else."

Sally made an indecipherable face. "Orin and Rob grew up together. Professional courtesy, that's what they have for each other. That's all. Rob just has more . . . . money than anybody else."

Bart nodded and dropped the subject. Enough for the time being, lest she become suspicious of his motives. "Anything else, boss?"

"Join me for breakfast after your first night?"

He smiled at her slyly. "With pleasure."

She watched him walk back out of the saloon, then turned to Albie, her morning bartender. "Hand me my fan and a whiskey, Albie. I need somethin' to cool off with."


	9. Riding Lessons

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 9 – Riding Lessons

It was a pleasant change, to be in a home rather than a hotel. Mary was a good cook, and being around Matty brought some kind of welcome relief, even if it was in limited supply. The boy's curiosity was endless, and spending time with him was a glimmer of light in Bart's otherwise dark life.

Acting as floor manager at 'Sassy Sally's' was interesting. It seemed odd at first, watching all the gambling rather than participating, but it kept his skills sharp without costing him any money. Some of the men he caught cheating were so bad at it they were laughable, while others were smooth and well-practiced. The Hinkel group hadn't been in since he started at the saloon, but it was only a matter of time before they got bored with wherever they were drinking and came back to Sally's for a night.

He helped board up the front windows of the newspaper office while new glass was cut, and within a few days everything once again looked normal. Marshal Hillis came by every day or two and kept a skeptical eye open when it came to the gambler, but there was no more trouble and everything remained quiet.

At the end of Bart's first week in Dodge there was another incident, this time at the barbershop. No one was hurt, but the windows were shot out and it was widely accepted that Hinkel's men were responsible. Within a day the news was all over town that the barber had resumed paying his 'protection' money and there were no further occurrences.

Bart hadn't been back out to Boot Hill since his first visit, but he felt a decided pull this morning and knew he needed to make another trip. He walked down to the livery and saddled Bret's mare, sure that she was probably glad to get some exercise and not be confined to a stall. He paid more attention to where he was going this time and didn't miss the turn. When the cemetery loomed in front of him he gave an involuntary shudder but pushed on.

Again he left the mare tied to the gatepost and walked in. There was another grave, newer even than Bret's, but it had no marker. Another stranger gunned down in an unknown town?

He sat down next to the marker on Bret's grave and pulled out a cigar. "Oh, don't worry, Pappy, I'm not gonna water you again. I figure between me and the rain we did a good enough job the other day. Just wanted to come out and have a visit and see if you could tell me what it is I'm missin'. Somethin's got almost everybody in this town scared to death and I can't figure out what it is. All I know is it's tied in to Hinkel's gang. Couldn't you have left me a clue? Or did you and I'm just not seein' it?"

He struck a match and lit the cigar, then took a long draw on it. "You could say somethin', ya know. I'd be more than happy to give it a listen." Off in the distance a crow 'cawed' and Bart chuckled. "Yeah, that's pretty much what I thought, too. I gotta figure out what I'm gonna do about Pappy. He needs to know that you went off and deserted us, but I'm sure not lookin' forward to doin' it. And I gotta tell ya, gettin' a telegram is cold. Guess that means I need to go back to Little Bend." He took another draw on the cigar. "But I'm not goin' anywhere until I get this figured out. And kill Rob Hinkel." Another pause. "Yeah, don't try and talk me outta that. He's gonna die, one way or the other. And I don't much care how."

A breeze kicked up out of nowhere and Bart sat at the grave for a few minutes, not saying anything. Then a thought occurred to him. "Ya know, maybe I need to go back and talk to Doc. I got the feelin' there was somethin' he wasn't tellin' me. Any idea what that was? Why am I askin' you? You're not gonna give me a decent answer. You expect me to work all this out by myself, don't ya? Damn it, Bret, you're not supposed to be dead."

The mare whinnied and Bart looked up. There was a buggy coming up the road, and it took him a minute to realize the buggy driver was Mary Clennon. She had Matty with her. He got up and walked to the gate, then helped Mary down from the buggy when she pulled up. "I didn't expect to see you here," he told her.

"I could say the same thing, Bart. Did you come up to visit Bret?"

"Yep," he answered quickly. "We always worked things out by talkin' about 'em. Kinda hard to do that with him up here."

Matty didn't say anything, just grabbed Bart by the hand and led him over to his father's grave. "Daddy, this is Uncle Bart. He's Uncle Bret's brother. He came to help Momma. At least I think he did." The boy looked up at the gambler. "Uncle Bart, this is my Daddy. See, him and Uncle Bret are still close."

He followed Matty's line of sight. There was only about fifteen feet of space between Taylor Clennon's grave and Bret's. Bart's breath caught in his throat and it took him a minute to answer the boy. "I'm sure they're glad they're still close, Matty." Bart let go of Matty's hand and walked away; he'd promised Bret no more tears.

The boy started to follow him, but Mary grabbed her son's hand and stopped him. He stared up at his mother with a question in his eyes, and she had to explain. "You know how you miss Daddy sometimes? Well, that's what Uncle Bart's doing. He's missing his brother."

"Oh."

Matty shook loose of his mother's hand and ran over to Bart, who he wrapped in another of his hugs. "It's okay, Uncle Bart, I understand. I miss Uncle Bret, too."

Bart squatted down until he was on the same eye level as Matty. "Thanks, Matty. I know you miss your daddy."

"Matty, come on, it's time to go back," Mary called to her son, who left Bart and ran back to his mother.

"Oh, Momma, do we have to? We just got here."

"Yes, dear, we have to. I've got a newspaper to get out, and I'm sure Bart wants to be alone for a while."

"Okay. But can we come back tomorrow? And then I can tell Daddy all the things I did in school."

"Not tomorrow, honey. Tomorrow the paper comes out. You remember that. I'm too busy to bring you the day the paper comes out."

"I can bring you, Matty," Bart volunteered. "Do you ride yet?"

"No, sir. Momma says it's too dangerous till I get a little older."

Bart walked back over to Mary. "Go on, get in the buggy, Matty. I need to talk to your mother for a minute." The boy ran back to the buggy and Bart turned to his mother. "It's not too dangerous, Mary. I learned when I was three or four. I can bring him on horseback with me, but it's time he learned to ride a horse."

"You're probably right, Bart, but I've got nobody to teach him now." She looked at him pleadingly, and he knew that she was asking him to do the teaching. "Bret was going to, until . . . . . "

It didn't take long to make a decision. "Alright, I'll teach him. It's past time he learned."

"Thank you. He'll be happy. He's been asking me for a while now."

Bart took her arm and escorted her back to the buggy, then helped her into the driver's seat. "Matty, tomorrow we're gonna start ridin' lessons."

The boy's eyes got wide. "We are? Really? Momma, Uncle Bart's gonna teach me to ride!"

Mary laughed. "See, I told you. Ready to go now, Matty?"

"Yes, ma'am. Boy, I'm gonna learn to ride."

Bart stood at the cemetery gate and watched them drive away. And then he smiled.

.


	10. The Truth Hurts

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 10 – The Truth Hurts

Bart sauntered into 'Sassy Sally's' a little before eight o'clock and got a cup of coffee from Ira, one of the nighttime bartenders. "Hey, Mr. Maverick. I just made a fresh pot. You get the first cup."

"Ira, I've told you before, call me Bart. Every time you say Mr. Maverick I look around for my pappy." He accepted the offered cup and swallowed a mouthful. It almost tasted like the black carada coffee he'd had in Carson City, and he wondered for a moment about Anderson Garrett and his daughter Rose. A letter from Anderson was overdue and he reminded himself to send a telegram and make sure everything was still good at the Garrett ranch. Then Ira said something to him and he had to have it repeated.

"Miss Sally asked if you'd come see her if you got in early."

"Thanks, Ira." Bart picked up his cup and walked back to Sally's office.

"Come in, ya tightwad!" Sally's voice bellowed.

"I hope you don't mean me," Bart remarked as he entered the office.

"Oh, hiya handsome," Sally said in a considerably quieter voice. "No, I sure didn't mean you. Come on in. There's somethin' I wanna talk to you about."

"What can I do for you, boss?"

"I got word that Hinkel's bunch is comin' in tonight. There's not one of 'em that I trust. I need you to be extra careful with 'em."

"You mean extra careful as in making sure they don't cheat?"

"You got it, cowboy. First time you catch one, come get me before you toss 'em out. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am. Won't be a problem."

She laughed that "Ah ha ha ha ha" laugh again. "Oh, there's gonna be a problem. But not for you. Orin and Rob have gotten into a 'tiff.' All I know is there's trouble comin' and I expect it tonight. So just be careful. I don't want anything happenin' to that gorgeous face of yours."

"That makes two of us, Sally. Anything else for tonight?"

"Yeah, Billy Westfall's already been tossed out. Don't let 'em back in."

"Anything to make you happy, boss." Bart grinned at her.

"I can think of a thing or two . . . . but you've got to get out on the floor. Don't forget, come and get me first."

"Yes, ma'am. Will do."

Hinkel's bunch was coming in tonight. Bart shrugged his shoulders, which slightly readjusted the shoulder holster he wore. He checked the derringer tonight before leaving to come in, so he knew it was loaded. He set his empty cup on the bar before taking a walk towards the roulette wheel. That was Ira's signal to refill it before he got back for his second pass on the floor.

Everything seemed relatively quiet right now, except for the slightly out-of-control cowboy at the roulette table. "What's the problem?" Bart asked quietly.

"Yer croupier is crappy," the cowboy babbled and laughed. It was obvious he'd had too much to drink, but Bart wanted to resolve the problem quickly and amicably.

"Give me the ball, Jack," Bart told the croupier, and he started the wheel spinning. "Place your bets," Bart called and set the ball in motion on the track. "Place your bets."

The wheel spun, the ball turned, and the cowboy laid his money down. The ball landed on thirty-six red. And the cowboy lost. "Still got a problem?" Bart asked. The cowboy walked away without saying anything else. Bart removed the ball from the wheel and handed it back to Jack.

"Thanks, Bart. He was gettin' a little out of control."

"He was gettin' a little out of the bottle," Bart remarked. He headed back up towards the poker tables and had just reached his refilled coffee cup when the pack entered the saloon.

That was the only thing Bart could call them. Hinkel sauntered in first, with ten or twelve of his so-called gang following closely on his heels. "Set 'em up, Ira!" he shouted, and everybody piled up against the bar. Bart picked up his cup and started to walk away when he heard Hinkel shout "Hey, floor man!"

He kept right on walking. "Floor man!" Hinkel yelled again, and this time he couldn't be ignored. Bart stopped and turned around, setting the coffee down on the table he was nearest to. He never said a word, and Hinkel just stared at him.

"Your name Maverick, floor man?" Hinkel asked in an exaggerated drawl.

"It is."

"You related to that Maverick I killed?"

' _Stay calm, Bart,_ ' he told himself. _'You couldn't outdraw him if you tried.'_ He finally answered, "My brother."

"You lookin' for a piece of me?"

"Nope," he said out loud, and to himself he finished, _'I'm lookin' for the whole thing.'_

"Good," Hinkel answered. "Let's keep it that way." To his gang at the bar he said, "Just think, I could be the first man to single-handedly put brothers up on Boot Hill."

' _You'll pay for that,'_ Bart thought. _'But not tonight and not here._ ' He picked his coffee back up and walked towards the poker tables. He heard laughter from the bar and was glad that he couldn't hear the rest of what was said.

He took over dealing at one of the tables when Sally needed the regular dealer in the back for a few minutes and was relieved that he was busy when Hinkel's men started to leave the bar and find poker games to join.

A few minutes later he was walking the floor again. He caught a card sharp reaching for an ace in his boot and put the man out, but Hinkel's men seemed to be behaving themselves. The night dragged on, and Bart stayed as far away from Rob as possible.

About two in the morning a particular game caught his eye, and he stood a few feet from the table and watched hand after hand until he was sure that somebody was dealing off the bottom of the deck. This table had a rotating deal, and it went around the table once more before Bart was certain who was doing the cheating. It was Ben Morissey, one of Hinkel's trusted lieutenants. He'd already started to walk away, back to Sally's office to get her and have Morissey thrown out when one of the other players at the table caught on.

"You're cheatin', Morissey," the man said. Bart had seen him in here three nights running but knew him only as Joe.

"Don't say things ain't got no truth to 'em," Morissey answered.

Bart stopped in his tracks. He sensed what was coming, and there was no time to get Sally. "I still say you're cheatin," Joe insisted.

Bart saw Morissey go for his gun, more than ready to shoot Joe for accusing him of cheating. Without thinking twice he grabbed the derringer and fired, hitting Morissey in the hand just as he started to shoot. The shot went wild and Morissey shrieked, which brought Hinkel running, guns drawn.

"What's goin' on here?' he growled.

"Morissey got caught cheatin'. He pulled his gun to shoot Joe and I shot him first. Get your man outta here, Hinkel."

To Bart's surprise, Hinkel holstered his guns and grabbed Morissey by the collar. He yanked the cheater to his feet and shoved him away from the table. "Get outta here, you idiot. I thought you was smarter than that." He looked down at Joe and said, "Take the pot. It's yours." He stared at Bart but never said anything. Then he shoved his lieutenant in front of him, all the way to the door, just as the marshal came running in. The wounded man hurried out and Hinkel strolled back to the bar. By this time Sally was making her way to Bart and Hillis was questioning Joe.

"Sorry boss, I tried. It was come get you or let Morissey shoot an innocent man."

Sally nodded her head. "You did the right thing, Bart. Hillis woulda had us closed down if you hadn't."

Bart watched the marshal grill the man he'd saved. Evidently satisfied with the answers he'd received, the lawman stalked towards Bart with a grim expression on his face. "Marshal, you have questions?"

Hillis shook his head. "Just one. Why do you always seem to be in the middle of trouble?"

Bart grinned. "Just lucky, I guess."

"I appreciate the fact that you didn't add to the population up on the hill."

' _Oh, I will,_ ' he thought. _'Just not that one.'_ "No need, Marshal. Just as easy as killin' him."

"Keep it that way, huh?" Satisfied that it all worked out for the best, the marshal made his way to the bar and Rob Hinkel. "Outside, Hinkel."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Marshal, sir," Hinkel answered, and strode outside with the lawman.

"What's goin' on, Hinkel?"

"Whatta ya mean, Chris?" The expression on the face was solemn, but the voice had an amused tone to it.

"Why'd you come to Sally's tonight? You wear out your welcome at Jake's?"

Hinkel chuckled. "Let's just say I needed to remind somebody they're not exempt from trouble."

"Maverick?" the marshal asked.

"Him? Naw, he's a small fish in a big pond. I've got more important things to think about."

"Even if he wants you dead?"

The expression on Hinkel's face changed. "Has he said that?"

"Didn't say he had."

The outlaw grinned at the last remark. "Oh, I see. Musclin' in on your territory, huh?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Go right ahead and play dumb, Hillis. I've seen the way you look at the widow Clennon."

"You're so full of – go to hell, Hinkel. And keep your boys outta trouble."

Chris Hillis stalked away, not willing to listen to any more of the speculation. Rob Hinkel stood outside Sally's and laughed. "The truth hurts, don't it, Marshal?"


	11. Lessons in Love

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 11 – Lessons in Love

"Okay, Matty, which do you want first, a riding lesson or a visit to your father?"

The boy thought about it but didn't take long to make his decision. "Visit with Daddy first."

"Then let's go down to the livery and get Uncle Bret's horse saddled. You can ride with me to the cemetery."

They walked side-by-side to the livery, and while Bart saddled the mare he explained everything he was doing to the boy, and why each step was necessary. Matty watched in awe, and when it came time to tighten the cinch Bart held him up so that between the two of them they could get it nice and tight.

"That's hard," Matty pronounced when they were finished.

"Gotta get it right so your saddle doesn't slip," Bart explained.

"You'll show me again if I forget?" the boy asked.

"Sure," Bart pronounced. "You don't have to remember it all the first time." A voice flashed through his head _, 'You gotta remember all this, Bart.'_ And his reply, _'Not if I ride bareback I don't.'_

He picked Matty up and sat him in the saddle, then swung up behind him. "You okay up there?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Matty answered.

"You hold her reins."

'How does she know where to go?"

"Well, she's waitin' for you to tell her." Bart nudged the horse with his heels and she started walking forward. "See this is what you do to make her turn left," and Bart guided Matty's hands with the reins to the left, "and this is what you do to make her turn right."

"How do I stop her?" was the next question.

"Just like this," and Bart pulled back on the reins. The mare stopped. Matty laughed.

"That's so cool!"

Bart laughed with him. It was becoming increasingly difficult to remain miserable when he was around the boy. He wasn't sure how or why one fell in love with a child; maybe it was because Matty reminded him so much of Bret. They rode on out of Dodge City, and Matty seemed to have a good handle on the reins. Bart gave a little more guidance when they got to the hill, and swung his leg over the saddle to get down and help his pupil when they reached the gate. Next came a lesson in the fine art of tying the reins to something to ensure that your mount didn't wander off.

"Do you want to see your daddy alone?"

"Yes, sir, please."

Matty went left, Bart right. He walked over to Bret's marker and looked down at the grave. There were fresh boot prints in the dirt, and he was incensed that someone had walked on his brother's grave. Then he looked closely at the prints. They were just like his. Had he walked across the grave yesterday and forgotten it? He shook his head and looked again. Yeah, he sure must have. "Sorry, Brother Bret. Didn't mean to do that."

He looked over at Matty, who was sitting cross-legged next to his father's grave, telling him everything that had happened in school. He listened carefully and could hear most of what they boy was saying. "But I still need help . . . . . mathematics. And Miss Stevens says I've really improved my spelling. But I sure do . . . . . . you, Momma just doesn't . . . . . .as well with my drills as you did. But I've got . . . . really exciting . . . . Uncle Bart's gonna teach me to ride! We . . . . . today. I'll make you proud . . . . . Daddy. I'll be real good at it, you . . . . . and see. Just like you were. I gotta go now. I love you, Daddy. Momma will bring . . . . . tomorrow. Bye!"

Bart wiped his eyes so that Matty wouldn't see the tears standing there. Tears because he knew exactly how Matty felt; tears because no child should have to talk to their parent in a graveyard. Matty came running up to him and grabbed his hand. "Come on, Uncle Bart. Let's go have my first lesson!"

The gambler let Matty lead him back to the mare, still standing patiently where they left her. "Here, put your foot in that stirrup," Bart told him and lifted the boy up into the saddle. Bart mounted behind him again and handed him the reins. "You're in charge, Matt."

"You called me Matt," the boy responded.

"Yep, anybody that rides a grown-up horse deserves a grown-up name. So from now on you're Matt."

Bart nudged the mare forward and gave Matt complete control. They walked back down the hill and on the road back to town. When they reached the livery, Bart dismounted but left Matt in the saddle. "Are ya ready for this?" he asked the boy.

"You bet!" Matt answered, and urged Bret's horse forward.

"Okay, Matt, watch your hands. You have to keep a good hold on the reins, but not too tight. Sit up straight; let her know you're up there. Now turn her left, and follow me into the corral."

Bart walked into the paddock with Matt and the mare behind him. "Take her around this way, Matt," and he pointed left. The boy turned the mare and she followed his direction. For the next hour, Bart gave Matt instructions, turning the horse this way and that, until Matt was feeling reasonably comfortable in the saddle. Finally, he grabbed the mare's bridle and brought her to a halt. "Okay, that's enough for your first lesson. Come on down and I'll show you how to take the saddle off and take care of your horse after you ride."

Matt swung his leg over the saddle, much the same way he'd seen Bart do it, and slid to the ground as if he'd been riding forever. The man and boy walked the mare back to her stall and removed the saddle, then spent another hour giving her a rubdown. Bart tried to explain the importance of everything he did, and the reason for doing it, and Matt was a quick learner. As the last step before they left the livery, Matt fed and watered the horse. When he was finally done, Bart turned to him and said, "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. How about lunch? My treat at the café down the street."

"Alright!" Matt agreed and ran ahead to duck into the newspaper office and tell Mary where they were headed.

"Have you eaten yet?" Bart asked, sticking his head in the door.

"No, I can't take the time on publishing day," she answered.

"Is there anything I can do to help? Matt would really like you to come to lunch with us."

"Matt?"

"Time for a new name. He's not a baby anymore, Mary."

She sighed. She hated the fact that Bart was right. "Will you help me get the papers distributed this afternoon?"

"We'll both help," Bart assured her.

"Alright. But you really have to or I'll never get done today."

"We will. I promise." With that, he pulled Mary's chair away from the desk and offered his arm to escort her outside, where her son now waited impatiently.

"You got her! You got her! Uh-oh, what do we have to do after lunch?" Matt had been through this more than one time.

"Help distribute the papers."

"Ok," the boy nodded. 'That's not so bad."

"I didn't think so, either," Bart replied, and the three of them walked down the sidewalk to the café.


	12. Eve of Destruction

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 12 – Eve of Destruction

Lunch was eaten, with Matt talking endlessly about his first riding lesson. The papers were printed and distributed, but as soon as Bart saw the headline he expected trouble sooner or later. "REIGN OF TERROR CONTINUES,' screamed the front page, and the lead story concerned the seemingly random destruction at the newspaper itself and the barbershop. Bart sighed as he continued reading the story that accompanied the headline, and when he dropped the last batch off at the front desk of the hotel he bought one himself and settled in the lobby to read the article.

He shook his head when he was finished, knowing that everything Mary had written was true and that it was sure to bring death and destruction down upon them from Rob Hinkel's group. He tucked the paper under his arm and walked back to Mary's office, wondering just how fast hell would appear in their lives and what form it might take. He didn't have to wait too long.

The night was quiet at Sally's, especially after the chaos and disturbance by Ben Morissey and the shooting last night. There were no disputes, no brawls, no gunfire, not even an argument. Sally seemed distracted, with something on her mind that Bart couldn't pry out of her, so he gave up trying and simply went back to walking the floor. The roulette table was deserted, and he taught Stan, the croupier, to play Maverick solitaire. The saloon was getting ready to shut down for the night just about the time his shift was over, and Sally suggested breakfast. Food didn't appeal, but the chance to sit down with a cup of coffee and pick the bosses brain did.

He escorted her down the street to the café that was just opening for the day and held her chair while she was seated. He ordered them both coffee and sat back and watched her read the menu while she made faces at it. Finally, he started to laugh and asked her outright, "What's wrong, Sally? Somethin's been botherin' you all night. Come on, we're not at the saloon. Talk to me."

She picked up her coffee cup and shook her head. 'Nothin' I can talk about."

He covered her hand, which was sitting on the table, with one of his. "Not even to me?"

"Not even to you."

He picked up her hand and kissed her fingertips. "I'm sorry."

"Me too, handsome. Just watch your back, huh?"

There was the warning. "What's comin', Sally? Is it comin' for me or Mrs. Clennon?"

"I've said too much. They'd kill me, too, Bart, if they knew."

"Who, Sally? Morissey? Hinkle? The marshal?"

"Ha! Don't make me laugh. Hillis talks a good game, but he won't stand in their way. Not if he wants to stay alive. And Ben Morissey does what Hinkel tells him to do. No, it goes deeper than that. And I've said much too much."

Deeper than that? Was there somebody behind Hinkel's control over the town? Someone controlled Hinkel? That was an interesting concept, and one he hadn't thought of. Someone else pulling the strings. Bart needed to know more, but Sally had just erected a wall between him and any further knowledge. Better not push.

"Okay, boss, let's just eat breakfast, huh? And let whatever happens happen?"

"Thanks, handsome. You never told me, how'd you get hooked up with newspaper lady?"

"My brother was friends with her husband."

"Really? Taylor Clennon had friends?"

'Sure. Doesn't everybody?"

"No," Sally answered quietly. "No."

"Come on, now, stop lookin' so glum."

"Let's skip breakfast. Come home with me. Let's make each other feel better."

Bart shook his head. "We can't do that, boss. You told me you've got somebody at home waitin' for ya."

"He's in Kansas City."

He was suddenly serious. "I don't do that, Sally. I won't be anybody's 'fancy man.'"

She snorted. "Not even Mary Clennon's?"

"Especially Mary Clennon's."

She looked in his eyes – for what? He wasn't sure, but whatever she saw, she was satisfied he was telling the truth. "Ok, handsome. But it was a good thought while it lasted." And she grinned at him.

XXXXXXXX

It was almost six o'clock in the morning when he got back to Mary's house. The sky had started to streak light with the sunrise and he was surprised to find Matt up and searching for something he couldn't find.

"What'd you lose, Matt?"

"My pencil box," the boy answered. "Have you seen it? I need it for school this morning."

"I saw it on your mother's desk yesterday," Bart told him. "Maybe that's where you left it?"

"I bet. I'll get momma's keys and go get it." He disappeared into Mary's bedroom and emerged just a few seconds later, keys in hand.

"You want me to go with you?" Bart asked.

"No, sir," Matt answered. "I'll just be a minute." And Matt was out the door before Bart could say anything. It was two or three minutes later when the gambler realized the boy still wasn't back and headed outside to see what was keeping him.

He had just opened the front door and taken a step out when the world exploded. At least that's what it seemed like. The blast came from the street side of the newspaper office and knocked Bart to the ground. Within seconds flames reached into the sky, and his only thought was _'Matt.'_

He scrambled to his feet and ran for the building in front of the house. He could hear footsteps behind him and knew it was Mary, thrown rudely out of her bed by the explosion. The back door to the newspaper was open, and he could see the flames already dancing bright yellow and reaching for the sky.

"MATT!" he yelled, running through Mary's office. The fire was everywhere, but Matt was nowhere to be found. Mary came rushing in behind him and he grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her back out into the alley between the buildings. "Get out of here, Mary! I'll find him." She stood helplessly in the dirt between the buildings, stunned into silence by the destruction in front of her. "MATT!" he yelled again, and finally heard the boy's voice.

"Under here, Uncle Bart."

Matt had taken refuge under the desk that sat at the very front of the newspaper room, and Bart scooted under it frantically and emerged with a bundle of boy. He tried to run in a straight line to the back, but pieces of the roof were dropping and he caught his foot on a burning board and went down, throwing Matt towards the door. "Get out, Matt!" he yelled as he struggled to get to his feet, and saw the boy run out the rear door just as another piece of ceiling fell and caught him across the shoulders and the back of the skull. Bart went down just inside the rear door of the building and lay there unconscious as everything burned around him.


	13. Gunpowder and Lead

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 13 – Gunpowder and Lead

Something awful happened, and it threw her right out of bed and onto the floor. She grabbed her robe and ran, knowing only that whatever it was had to be close by, and the first thing she thought of was the newspaper. By the time she reached the front door she could see Bart ahead of her, and she followed him in the back door to her office. Apparently the explosion or whatever it was had occurred in the very front of the building. Within seconds he'd turned and grabbed her by the shoulders, pushing her back out into the alley. "Get out of here, Mary! I'll find him," Bart yelled at her over the roar of the flames, and only then did she realize that Matty, her Matty, must be inside.

She was frozen and could only stand in silence as seconds passed like minutes and minutes like hours until she saw Matt pushed out the back door, hurtling towards her. She expected Bart to follow and grabbed her son in a protective embrace, but there was no one behind Matt. Where was the man who'd just rescued him?

Then her eyes bounced frantically around the room, and she saw Bart lying on the floor of the burning building, with beams from the ceiling falling all around him. He was unconscious and she could only assume one or more of the beams had hit him and knocked him out. "Matt, go in the house and stay there! Close the door behind you!"

She could hear yelling in the street out front and she screamed "HELP! HELP ME!" and several of the town's menfolk came running. She pointed frantically at the fallen man and yelled "Get him out!" Two of them ran into the back end of Mary's office and dragged the unconscious man out right before the roof collapsed.

They left him in front of the house and Matt could stay inside no longer. He came flying out the front door, crying and shrieking, "Uncle Bart! Uncle Bart wake up! You can't die, too!" He threw himself on top of Bart and Mary had to pull her son off, just as Doc Walters came running up the alley.

"Matt! Matty! Go back in the house so Doc can take care of Bart. Go on, now!" Mary insisted, and Matt reluctantly did as he was told. Mary turned her attention to Doc and helped him roll Bart over onto his back. She took a quick glance at what used to be the newspaper office. It stood in ruins, smoldering as the last few buckets of water were thrown on what was left of the fire. No time to worry about that now, as Doc continued his exam and Bart remained unconscious. The bucket brigade came around the back of the building to put out any remains of the fire and Doc got two of the men to lend a hand carrying Bart into the house and his room.

"Mary, is the boy alright?" Doc asked while he tried to determine the fate of the man lying in front of him.

"He's all right, Doc. That's how Bart got caught inside – he ran in and found Matt. He must've gotten hit by the beams on his way out."

"Looks that way," Doc answered her. "Shoulders and back look pretty bruised up – I don't think anything's broken, but I won't be sure until he wakes up. Got some cuts and scratches on his face, probably from fallin'. A concussion, too, I'm sure. What happened?"

"I don't know, Doc. I was asleep. Some kind of an explosion, I think. Matt, where are you? Come in here, please."

The boy came to the door and watched every move Doc made. "Is Uncle Bart gonna be alright?"

Doc looked at Mary. "Uncle Bart?"

Mary shrugged. "His brother was Uncle Bret, so . . . . . "

"Ah," Doc answered. "Yes, Matty, Uncle Bart is gonna be alright. It may take a few days, but he'll be fine. What happened?"

Matt wouldn't come past the doorway. "It's Matt now, Doctor Walters. I left my pencil box in Momma's office, and I went in to get it. There was this big old 'boom!' in the front room and I ran in there to see what it was. Then I hid under the desk. Bart came and got me out and carried me to the office. He musta been hit by somethin' cause he shoved me through the back door and fell. Then Momma grabbed me. You sure he'll be okay?"

"Yes, MATT, I'm sure," the doctor answered. He looked back to Mary. "Why the change in name, Mary?"

"Bart's teaching him to ride a horse. Said a grown-up boy needs a grown-up name."

"They've really taken to each other, have they?"

"Yes, Doc, they seem to. I think it's been good for both of them."

There was a moan from the man in the bed and both adult heads turned towards him. "Bart, can you hear me?" Doc asked.

"Bret, where's Bret? Gotta get Bret out. BRET! Where's my brother?"

"Bart, settle down. Bret's gone." Mary sat on the bed next to the man trying to fight his way back to consciousness and not having a lot of luck

Bart tossed and turned, struggling to find his brother. "Bret! Can't stay there. Gotta get him out. Bret, don't leave. Can't tell Pappy you're gone. Bret!" He finally stopped struggling, slipping back towards unconsciousness again. Then, unexpectedly, another low moan followed by a very faint, "Doc?"

"That's me, son. How ya feel?"

"Matt? Where's Matt?" were the next words that came out of Bart's mouth.

Mary leaned closer so she could be heard. "He's fine, Bart. You got him out in time. Do you know what happened?"

"No, don't remember," was the answer.

"Bart, how's your back and shoulders? Feel like anything's broken?" came next from Doc.

"Hurts. It hurts. Broken? No."

"Can you open your eyes for me?"

"Can't. Too tired."

"Bart. Bart. Wake up, Bart."

"No good, Mary. Either he's out again or asleep. I don't know which. I gotta go see if anybody else was hurt. Keep him in bed today, would ya? And send Matt for me if he's not any more responsive by tonight. Do you need anything before I go?"

She shook her head. "A new newspaper office?"

Just as Doc was standing up to leave there was a knock on the front door. "Mary, you alright? It's Chris Hillis."

"I'll let him in, Mary," Doc Walters told her as he picked up his bag. "Remember, keep our injured man quiet."

Doc left the room and she heard the front door open and close. "Mary?"

She looked up to see Chris standing in the doorway. "In front, Chris," she told him as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

"What happened to Maverick?"

"He got hit by a beam when he ran into the office to save Matt," she answered. "Do you know what it was?"

"Some kind of explosion. Looks like it happened right in front or inside the newspaper. What was Matty doin' inside?"

"Looking for his pencil box. Bart went in after him with the place on fire. My son might be dead if he hadn't. So if you're going to try and blame this on Bart, don't."

The marshal shook his head. "I wasn't. Somebody saw one of Hinkel's men out front of the building. He had something in his hand. Did you have another run-in with Hinkel?"

"No, Chris, nothing since the incident with Bret. Why?"

"There was a shooting the other night at Sally's. Maverick shot Ben Morissey to prevent Joe Hinder from gettin' shot. Totally justified, and it didn't seem to bother Hinkel, but you never know."

"Why would he destroy the paper to get even with Bart? That is what you're suggesting, isn't it?"

"I don't know why Hinkel does anything, Mary, but – "

"You're wrong, Hillis," came Bart's voice from the doorway, where he stood leaning heavily against the door.

"Bart! Get back in bed! Doctors' orders!" Mary went hurrying towards the man in the doorway just as his legs gave way and he started to fall. The marshal moved quickly and caught the gambler just in time, and with him on one side and Mary on the other they got the injured man back to bed.

"That wasn't bright," Hillis said as he helped lay Bart down.

"Dynamite, Hillis, it was dynamite," Bart babbled before passing out again.

"Did he say dynamite?" Mary asked.

"That's what the man said," Chris answered. "You wanna keep him in bed you're gonna have to tie him down."

"But why dynamite?"

"I don't know, Mary, but I'm gonna try and find out. Maybe he didn't like the picture you painted of him in the paper this week." He straightened up, a new-found respect for the man in the bed beginning to dawn. "Best keep an eye on your patient. He doesn't strike me as the kind of man that stays down easy."

The marshal walked back outside, closing the front door behind him. What was Mary gonna do for money now? He took a good look at what used to be the newspaper office. There wasn't much left beside a burned-out shell. The buildings on either side had been damaged but not totally destroyed like the paper was. He was going to have to find the gunslinger. A child had almost been killed, and if it weren't for the gambler he might have been. A line had been crossed, and the Marshal had to know why.


	14. Angels and Illusions

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 14 – Angels and Illusions

"Sally? You seen Hinkel or any of his men this mornin'?" Chris Hillis asked Sally Bodeen about an hour later when he walked down to 'Sassy Sally's.'

"Nope, not since the night before last. Somebody blew up the newspaper, huh?"

"Yeah, and they almost blew up your floor manager right along with it."

"What, they blew up Bart?"

"No, I said almost. He's gonna be alright, but don't be lookin' for him tonight. Doc Walters has got him confined to bed." Chris was surprised to see Sally truly upset about something. "Mary Clennon's son was in the newspaper office lookin' for somethin' when the explosion happened. Maverick went in to save the boy and got conked on the head."

"You sure he's okay?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. If you don't believe me go on down to the Clennon house. Hinkel's crew hasn't been in here, huh?"

"Nope. Why you lookin' for 'em?" If Sally was going to give him any different answers, she was going to know why.

"Cause Brad Sampson was seen outside the office right before the explosion. Brad's still one of Hinkel's men as far as I know."

"Yeah, he was the night before last when they was in here. But it don't make any sense. If the newspaper's gone, how can . . . . . . ?

"How can what, Sally? What aren't you tellin' me?"

"Sorry, Chris. Nothin'. I'm tellin' you nothin'."

"Orin in town?"

"Nope. In Kansas City. He'll be back tomorrow."

Sally was definitely withholding something from the marshal, but he couldn't quite tell what it was. Something to do with Rob and Orin.

"Alright. Let me know if anything changes, okay?"

"Sure, Chris."

Sally waited until the marshal was gone, then she went back to her office and got her shawl. On her way out she told Albie, "I'm goin' out. I'll be back in an hour or so."

It was a short walk down to the newspaper, or what was left of it. If she remembered right, Taylor Clennon's house was right behind it, off the alley that ran between the two. She walked around back and saw it, just like she remembered. She swallowed hard and shrugged her shoulders under the shawl, then walked to the front door and knocked.

Mary Clennon opened the door to a woman she'd seen many times before and never spoken to. She stood there for a moment, looking at the person at her door until the woman finally spoke.

"Mrs. Clennon? I'm Sally Bodeen. I heard about the explosion this morning from Chris Hillis. He said that Bart Maverick was injured. You know he's my floor manager? I was wondering if I could see him for just a minute?"

Mary was surprised. The last person she would ever expect to find at her door was Sally Bodeen, and yet here the woman stood. She didn't know what else to do, so she stepped back and opened the door. "Come in, Miss Bodeen. I don't know if Mr. Maverick is awake, but we can surely check in on him."

Sally walked into the house, feeling completely out-of-place but determined to see that Bart was alright with her own eyes. Chris Hillis was right. A line had been crossed, and innocent people had been hurt. Mary Clennon was one of those people. Sally felt guilty that she hadn't seen it before, and hoped that it wasn't too late.

Mary led her to the bedroom door and knocked, then went in. Bart appeared to be asleep, but she showed Sally into the room and closed the door behind her. The saloon keeper walked over to the side of his bed and marveled at the difference between the man lying in front of her and the man that showed up every night at Sally's. Her floor manager was gorgeous, there was no doubt about that, but he had an edge to him, a veneer of the jack-of-all-trades that allowed him to fit into the rough and tumble world of the professional gambler. The man in the bed looked oh-so-young, innocent and untainted by the world, ready to start out on a new life with no restrictions, no restraints. So sweet that she had to reach out and touch his face, to make sure that he was real and not a fallen angel.

Her touch stirred him, and he opened his eyes and smiled at her. "Sally," he murmured. "What are you doing here?"

There was a chair next to the bed and she pulled it over and sat down. "I had to make sure you were alright, handsome," she told him. "I heard somethin' about you rescuin' somebody and needed to see for myself. I just bet you're not comin' in to work tonight, are ya? You got a doctor's note for me?"

He closed his eyes again. "I'll get ya one," he told her softly. "First thing tomorrow."

She laid one of her hands over his. "Who sent you here, angel boy? Did you come just to save me?"

"Hmmm?" he murmured again.

"You gonna get well and come back to me?"

"Sure," he answered before drifting back off to sleep.

Sally stood and touched his face one more time. She'd never seen a man so beautiful, so peaceful looking. Was he her savior or her destruction?

She left the room quietly and closed the door behind her. Mary was sitting in the front room, drinking tea. "Thank you, Mrs. Clennon, for allowing me in your home. I do appreciate it. Take good care of him. He's somethin' real special."

Sally was walking toward the front door when Mary spoke to her. "I was just having a cup of tea, Miss Bodeen. Would you care to join me?"

The saloon keeper turned back to stare at the widow. Finally, she caught her breath and could answer. "Yes, ma'am. I would like that very much."

XXXXXXXX

 _They were both sitting in rocking chairs on a porch somewhere, still two fine looking old men. Bret was smoking a pipe, Bart had a cigar in his hands. The day was beautiful and clear, and the perfect breeze filled the air, with just a hint of jasmine on it. "Damn it, Bret, don't tell me that again. I don't care what you say, I'm not dead."_

 _His brother laughed at him, a big hearty laugh that he hadn't heard in a long time. "Yes, you are, son. I've been gone for over forty years and you're here talkin' to me. How do you explain that if you're not dead?"_

" _It's a trick, I tell ya. A dad-burned trick." Bart just kept rocking, sure that this was just another of Bret's well-known stunts, like his ability to always win when they cut the cards or his two-headed coin._

" _Well, then, how do you explain Beau's little one over there playin'? He lost her to the fever when she was just four years old. And she's here, and you know she's gone, too."_

" _I don't know just yet. Give me some time, would ya? I'm an old man. I don't think as fast as I used to. Besides, if we're dead, why are you old like me? You died when you were young."_

" _That's an illusion, son, just to make you feel better. Belinda's still only four, see there? And when you see Pappy, he's gonna look just like he did when you buried him."_

 _Bart took a draw on the cigar and thought for a minute. "Momma. What about Momma?"_

" _Depends on how you wanna see her."_

" _Well, I'd rather see us all the way I remember us."_

 _Bret snapped his fingers and he and Bart looked like they had when Bret was killed in Dodge City. "How'd you do that?" Bart asked curiously._

" _Oh, just a little trick I learned a while back. You'll get the hang of it eventually."_

" _Is everybody here?"_

" _Of course, everybody – oh, I know who you mean. Yeah, she's here too."_

" _What do I have to do - ?"_

" _Nothin', son, not a thing. Go on, she's waitin' for ya."_

" _Catch you later, Brother Bret."_

" _You know it, Brother Bart."_

 _He was walking across the yard, and she was standing out by the gate to the corral watching the horses run. Just as tall and beautiful as she was the day he'd lost her, all those years ago. She turned around and smiled, then held out her arms to him. And he went to her, and held her, and knew that he'd never have to let her go again._

And then he opened his eyes, and it was Mary Clennon sitting by his bedside, and he could see through the window that it was dark outside. "Hi, how are you feeling? I've got some soup ready out there if you're hungry. And if you feel like it, a young man who's very anxious to see you. Are you up to it?" 


	15. Things Change

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 15 – Things Change

Chris Hillis had been right about one thing – Bart Maverick was not "the kind of man that stays down easy." By the next morning he was out of bed and functioning; maybe not at one-hundred percent, but well enough to fool most people. Matt Clennon was relieved and went to school without any fuss. His mother cooked breakfast for the injured man, whether he wanted it or not, and wondered what she was going to do with her life and where the money to live was coming from.

Bart discussed that very subject over the food he didn't want but was willing to eat. "There's a reward for the man or men that shot up the barbershop and the newspaper," he told her. "It's enough to get you started."

"Started at what?" Mary asked him.

"Started rebuilding the newspaper."

"Who says I want to rebuild?"

"What are you gonna do, turn into a lady of leisure?" Bart laughed at that one, even if it did make his head hurt.

"I guess not," was Mary's answer. "But how do I collect a reward on something I know nothing about?"

"Ah, but we will. Just give me time."

"You're not well. You need to take care of yourself first. Matt would never forgive me if I let something happen to you."

"Nothin' will happen to me. I have a plan."

"Oh dear. Bret warned Taylor about your 'plans'."

"Well then, he shoulda stuck around to make sure I didn't execute my plans, shouldn't he?" His eyes got dark as he thought about his brother, and once again he felt the stabbing pain that came with every realization that Bret was dead. Sally had said a little bit yesterday when she thought he was asleep, and it convinced him beyond a doubt that she knew something she hadn't divulged to anyone.

"Never mind about that. Go find somebody that can rebuild the paper. And see if any of the equipment is salvageable. I'll take care of the rest." He sat back and took a sip of his coffee, having done as much damage to his breakfast as he was capable of doing.

"Alright, if for no other reason than to make you happy. That's the least I can do after what you did for Matty – I mean Matt. Satisfied?"

"Yes, ma'am. I have some people to go see. I'll be back for supper. You tell Matt that his next ridin' lesson is tomorrow after school. Got it?"

Mary nodded her head. "I've got it." She reached her hand across the table and touched his. "And Bart, thank you for my son's life. If I lost Matty – "

He patted her hand. "Don't think about that. He's safe, that's what counts."

XXXXXXXX

First on the list was Doc Walters, who was glad to see the gambler in one piece.

"You look a whole lot better than yesterday," the doctor told him as he ran a cursory examination. "Didn't quite know what to do with you. I was almost ready to give you an aspirin, but then I remembered Bret tellin' me about your allergy. Good thing he did."

"Yeah, Doc, tell me more about Bret. Where was he shot? Was he already dead when you got to him or did he die later? Did he say anything before he died?"

"Woe, son, slow down. Why all the questions? Is there somethin' goin' on I should know about?"

Bart shook his head. "No, Doc, but I should have asked you these questions before. Well, what about it?"

"Sorry, he was gone by the time I got there. Shot in the chest – probably died instantly. He didn't suffer any, that's for sure. Does that make ya feel any better?"

"Yes. No. Not really. But it answers my questions."

"And how do you feel this mornin'?"

"I'm fine." He saw the look that Doc gave him. "Now Doc, I really am fine. A little dizziness, that's about all. Well, and sore shoulders. And a sore head. But that's all."

Now Doc shook his head. "Just like your brother."

Bart gave him a quizzical look. "What does that mean?"

"Nothin.' Really, nothin'. Anything else I can answer for ya?"

"Yeah. How many men has Hinkel killed?"

"Six that I know of here in Dodge City. Don't know how many anywhere else."

"Thanks, Doc," Bart offered, "that's what I needed to know."

And before Doc could blink twice, Bart was gone. "I wonder what he's up to," Walters said out loud to his empty exam room. "I got a feelin' it's gonna be trouble."

XXXXXXXX

The marshal was sitting in his office, looking over the new 'Wanted' posters that had come in on the morning stage. He was so absorbed in reading about the latest criminals that he didn't hear the door open and was surprised when he looked up and saw the gambler standing at his desk.

"Well, Maverick, you're upright again."

"Again?"

"You don't remember yesterday? When you told me about the dynamite and then collapsed?"

"Uh, Marshal, I collapsed first and then told you about the dynamite."

"What do you need, Maverick?"

"How many men has Rob Hinkel killed in Dodge City?"

Hillis had to stop and count. "Seven, countin' your brother."

"Are you sure about that? The number, I mean?"

"Yeah, pretty sure. Smith, Waverly, Frankston, Chester, Murray, Axton, and your brother. Seven. Why?"

"And when is this elusive Orin Johnson comin' back to town? You got any idea?"

"Supposed to be today. Say, it was supposed to be today. I wonder what happened?"

"Who told you that?" Bart asked.

"Sally Bodeen, when I went to question her yesterday after the explosion. She should know, she lives with him. Somethin' musta kept him an extra day. He wasn't on the stage this mornin'."

"Sally lives with Johnson?"

Hillis laughed. "Yeah, has for years. You didn't know that?"

Bart remembered her words from early yesterday morning. _'Come home with me. Let's make each other feel better.'_ "Was he in Kansas City, by any chance?"

"Yeah, that's what Sally said. Why?"

"Just askin'. Thanks, Marshal."

"You're welcome, Maverick."

And once again, Bart was gone in a hurry.

XXXXXXXX

His last stop was 'Sassy Sally's", where the first person he saw was Albie. "Mr. Bart! How's your head? Want some coffee?"

"Thanks Albie, I would. Miss Sally in this mornin'?"

"Yes, sir, she just came in, but I'm not sure I'd – "

The rest of what Albie had to say was lost as Bart strode into Sally's office. "Sally, I need to – what the hell happened?"

Sally looked at him out of a black eye on the left side. To go with it, she had a bruised cheek and a split lip. She tried to smile, but all she could manage was a grimace.

Bart hurried around the desk and wrapped his arms around her; she laid her head on his shoulder. "What happened?" he repeated, softer this time.

"After I visited you yesterday I stayed and had tea with Mary Clennon. Orin found out and didn't like it."

"And he did this to you?" Bart pulled back so he could take a good look at Sally. She'd been thoroughly beaten; there was no doubt about that. "He wasn't supposed to be back in town until today."

"He got here last night," she told her floor manager. "And demanded to know where I'd been and who I'd been with. When he didn't like the answer – "

"He did this," Bart finished for her. "Come on, we're goin' to see Doc."

Sally pulled away from him. "No, I can't. That'll only make it worse."

"It isn't gonna get any worse," Bart promised her. He picked up her shawl and wrapped it around her, then took her arm and guided her out of her office. He looked at Albie on the way out. "If Orin Johnson comes lookin' for her, you tell him she's at Doc Walters. And he better be wearin' his guns."

Albie nodded. "Yes, sir."

Bart walked her back down the street, to Doc's office. Walters came out into the front hall, took one look at Sally, and steered her into the exam room. Half an hour later they were back, and Sally looked better than she had.

"She'll be fine," Doc told Bart. "Nothin' required stitches. Johnson do this?"

"Yep," Bart answered. "She's not goin' back there."

"Now wait, floor man. I got no place else to go," Sally protested.

Bart put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "You're not goin' back there, Sally. You're comin' to Mary's house with me. Matt and I can bunk together and you can have my room."

"I can't –" she started to protest.

"I can't let you go back to his house. This is not acceptable. Come on, come with me now. Doc, we'll be at Mary's if anybody comes lookin' for Sally. You can tell 'em I'm waitin' for 'em."

Doc Walters shook his head. _'Damn, just like his brother,'_ Doc thought. Out loud he said, "No problem. I'll send him to see you after I'm done with him."

Bart slapped Doc's arm. "Good man," he said and guided Sally out the door.

They walked back up the street to the Clennon house. "I can't do this, Bart. Not to a lady like that. It'll mortify her."

"What Orin Johnson did will mortify her. No arguments, Miss Bodeen."

Mary was in the kitchen making a fresh pot of coffee when Bart and Sally got there. "Bart, I didn't – Oh my God! Sally, what happened? Come in here! It was Orin Johnson, wasn't it? Never mind, you don't have to answer that. You're not going back out there, are you? No, you're not! What am I even asking for? Bart, can you – would you – "

"Bunk with Matt? You bet I would. Put Sally in the spare room. I was hopin' you'd see things that way."

Mary came rushing over and guided Sally to a seat in the front room. 'Now you come over here and sit down, Sally. I'll put some tea on. Or would you rather have coffee? Or a drink? I've got whiskey if you'd rather."

Sally attempted another smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Clennon. Some coffee would be perfect."

"I told you yesterday, Sally, call me Mary. Now how much do you have out at the Johnson spread? Clothes and possessions, I mean?"

"Not much. Clothes, mostly."

"Bart, can you go out and get Sally's belongings?"

"With no problem. Sally, you're gonna have to go with me, to make sure we get everything. Can you do that?"

"Can we go tomorrow? I just can't face it today."

Bart nodded. "Yes. ma'am. First thing in the mornin'. I'll get the Marshal to ride with us so there's no trouble. And you're not goin' back to the saloon today. I'll change clothes and go in. We can handle things without you. Mary, you tell Matt I'm still doin' his ridin' lesson tomorrow, alright? That boys had enough disappointments in his life. He doesn't need any more. I'll go get changed."

Bart went back to his temporary bedroom and closed the door.

"You hang onto him, you hear? That man's a keeper," Sally announced.

"He's not mine," Mary told her. "I don't know who she is, but he already belongs to somebody."


	16. Meet the New Boss, Same as the Old Boss

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 16 – Meet the New Boss, Same as the Old Boss

Bart went back To 'Sassy Sally's' as soon as he'd changed clothes. Albie was still behind the bar and Bart stopped there.

"Miss Sally?" Albie asked.

"Not comin' back today," Bart answered. "If anybody comes in lookin' for her, send them to me."

Albie smiled. "Yes, sir. I'll let Ira know when he comes in. Is she alright?"

"She will be, Albie. Do you know anything about this Orin Johnson fella?"

"Not much, Mr. Bart. I only seen him once, come in with Miss Sally. Bout forty years old, tall like you. Hair's almost gray. Dresses like you do, only not as well. Kinda slick lookin' fella. Looked kinda mad the whole time he was here, like he didn't wanna be here. Funny, since he owns the place. Not a pleasant fella."

"Thanks, Albie. I'll be in the back if you need me." Bart picked up a deck of cards and a cup of coffee and went to the very last poker table, where he sat and played Maverick solitaire until the night time crowd started to come in. Ira took over at the bar, and before it got too busy, Chris Hillis finally walked through the batwing doors. He stopped at the bar and asked Ira something, and Ira pointed him at Bart.

"Ira says you want to see me."

"Can you meet me here tomorrow mornin'?"

"For?"

"A trip to Orin Johnson's house."

"Why?"

Bart stood up. "To pick up Sally's personal possessions."

Hillis laughed. "You finally got her to move out, huh?"

"I didn't get her to do anything, Marshal. Johnson beat her. I'm takin' her to get her personal belongin's. I'd like it if the law was with us."

"He beat her?"

Bart nodded. "Knocked her around pretty good. She's not goin' back. She's gonna stay with Mary until she can get on her feet."

"With Mary Clennon?"

"With Mary Clennon."

"Yeah, I can be here. What time, Maverick?"

"Around nine o'clock."

"Yep. Better wear your gun. Johnson can be . . . . . . difficult."

"Alright. I've got no problem with that."

The marshal turned and stalked away, back up the line of poker tables and out the front door. Bart shook his head, wondering just what it was that motivated the man.

About ten thirty Doc Walters came by. "I take it Sally's with Mary Clennon?"

"As far as I know, Doc."

"Good. I been tryin' to get her to leave that man for years. He never did treat her the way she deserved to be treated."

"You a little sweet on Miss Bodeen?" Bart asked.

"Sally's a good woman, Bart. She'd do anything in the world for ya. But she's been miserable ever since she hooked up with Johnson. Somethin's not right there. I'm glad she's leavin' him."

"I've had the same feelin', Doc. I'll be glad when she's out."

"Well, I'm goin' home. It's been a long day. I'll come by Mary's in the mornin' to see how Sally's doin'."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate it, Doc. See ya then."

Doc Walters gave a wave and left for the night. The rest of the evening stayed quiet; business was slow and Bart closed the place down at two in the morning. It was closer to three before everything was cleaned and put away for the night. Albie would open back up at seven or eight in the morning.

It was dark and still on the streets as Bart walked back to Mary's house, and he wondered what Bret would think of his life at the moment. "I'm tryin' here, Brother Bret. I could use a little help." He was hoping Sally would talk to him on the trip to Johnson's house. He was at a dead-end trying to find out what hold Rob Hinkel had on the town, and if he didn't catch a break soon he didn't know which way to turn.

The house was quiet; everybody was asleep. He took off his coat, then his vest and his shoulder holster, and sat down on the settee in the front room. He didn't want to wake Matt, so he finally took off his boots and stretched out. Many a night he would have traded sleeping on the ground for a comfortable settee, and it only took a few minutes until he was asleep.

The next time he opened his eyes Matt was standing in front of him watching him.

"You didn't forget, did you?" the boy asked.

"Hi, Matt. Your ridin' lesson? Nope."

"Are you gonna sleep in my room tonight? You can have the bed, I can sleep on the floor."

"No, sir. You keep the bed. I can sleep out here, just like this."

"Momma and Miss Sally were talkin' last night about sharing Momma's room."

"That's up to them, young man. Don't you hafta get ready for school?"

"Yes, sir. I'm goin' now."

Bart closed his eyes again, and the next time he opened them it was light outside. He stretched and yawned, then sat up. Mary was in the kitchen with a pot of coffee and Sally was sitting at the table with her.

"Good mornin', ladies."

"Coffee, Bart?" Mary asked.

"Be right in," he answered, and put his boots back on. He yawned again and joined the ladies at the table. "I talked to the Marshal last night. He'll meet us at nine at Sally's, and ride with us out to Johnson's ranch."

"Alright," Sally commented. "I'll be ready."

"Did Matt get off to school?"

"Yes, almost an hour ago. Did he wake you up?"

Bart laughed, then took a drink of coffee. "Yep, to tell me to sleep in his room tonight."

Mary shook her head. "We talked about that last night. Matt can sleep on the settee, and you can take his room for now."

"Mary, I – "

"No, Bart. That's all there is to it. Matt sleeps out here."

"Yes, ma'am," the gambler answered, and laughed. "Remind me not to argue with you."

A knock on the door startled all three of them. "Might be Doc," Bart suggested, and sure enough he was right.

"I saw the light, so I came by," Doc explained. "Is it too early?"

Mary held the door open. "No, Doctor, come on in. Sally's in the kitchen. Grab a cup of coffee and join us."

Bart headed for what used to be his room. "I'm gettin' dressed. Be right back."

XXXXXXXX

At nine o'clock sharp Sally and Bart were waiting in the wagon outside 'Sassy Sally's' when Marshal Hillis rode up. His question was short. "Ready?"

Bart took the reins and urged the horses forward. "Take this road for about two miles," Sally directed him. The Marshal rode in front of them.

They traveled in silence for a while, until Bart finally broached the subject. "The other night, Sally, when you were afraid to tell me somethin' – does it have anything to do with this?"

Sally Bodeen turned and looked at Bart sharply. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because I've been puttin' two and two together and I keep comin' up with five."

"I still can't give you an answer, Bart. It's too risky."

"You gonna make me figure it out the hard way, Sally?"

"I just - too many people have already been killed. I'm not gonna add to that count."

"Including my brother?" For the first time, he let the pain and bitterness creep into his voice.

Against her better judgment, Sally nodded. "Including your brother. Please don't push me. I don't wanna see you on that list."

"Then you better not be watchin', Sally, because if I can't figure this out I'll just have to find some other way to kill Rob Hinkel. And I guarantee you he can outdraw me."

"You'd be shootin' the wrong man, Bart. He mighta pulled the trigger, but he's not the one that ordered it done."

"Then tell me, Sally. Who was it?"

So quietly that Bart could barely hear her, Sally Bodeen answered, "Orin Johnson."


	17. Up the Marble Steps

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 17 – Up the Marble Steps

"Johnson? Why, for God's sake?"

They drove through the gates at the Johnson ranch before Sally could give him an answer. She looked up and shook her head, almost afraid to speak. "Not now. When we're done."

As they pulled up in front of the house, Sally seemed to visibly shrink before his eyes. Bart turned to Hillis. "Marshal?"

Chris Hillis dismounted and made his way up the front steps, knocking on the door. It only took a minute for a pretty Mexican girl to answer, and Bart could hear her, "Si Señor Hillis. Señor Johnson is expecting you. Come in."

The marshal stepped inside and the door closed behind him. Bart handed the reins to Sally and unholstered his gun, checking it to make sure it was fully loaded. He held onto it and let Sally keep the reins for now.

They sat for almost fifteen minutes before the door opened and Chris came back out. He walked around to Bart's side of the wagon and leaned in. "Take Sally inside. I'll be up in just a minute. All her belongings are on the landing, but we'll check the bedroom just in case."

Bart nodded and put the gun back in its holster, climbed down from the wagon, then helped Sally down. He offered his arm, which she took. She was shaking and walked tentatively up the steps and inside the house.

The inside was stunning, and Bart had never seen anything like it in a house. There was a sweeping staircase made of marble in the entrance. Crystal chandeliers swung from the ceiling, and magnificent velvet draperies hung from the windows. Everything was gleaming and spotless. Bart whistled.

Sally started up the staircase, raising her skirts with her hands, and Bart followed. She stopped just outside a closed door and the gambler caught up and offered his arm again. She took it, trembling as much as the moment she walked in, and threw the door open. The bedroom was even more ornate than the entrance.

A massive bed filled the room, covered with fur. The furniture was big and heavy looking, in some kind of exotic dark wood. Everything in the room was brown or gold in color, and it sparkled even more than the front entrance. Sally withdrew her hand from Bart's arm and made her way to another set of doors in the far corner of the room. Inside the doors was a room bigger than most people's homes, and the most astonishing thing - it was nothing more than a closet!

Half of it was empty, where Sally's clothes had resided. The other side held coats and shirts and vests and pants, endless rows of them, and more pairs of boots than Bart had ever seen in one place in his life. There was nothing of Sally's left inside, and she returned to the bedroom without a backward glance. Bart had never seen a display of wealth quite like it before.

There was nothing left for her here, and she reached for the bedroom door to go back downstairs when it was pulled open from the outside. There stood the man that could only be Orin Johnson.

Albie was correct in his description. Tall and intimidating, with massive amounts of gray hair and a mustache, Johnson had eyes of steel blue and the demeanor of a wounded lion. "Sally, can we talk privately?"

She backed up from the doorway, right into Bart, and shook her head. "No, Orin. No more talking."

"Please, Sally – " and he reached out a well-manicured hand towards her.

Bart stepped in front of her. "You heard the lady. She doesn't want to talk to you."

Johnson looked at him and scoffed. "If you think you're the first, you're sadly mistaken."

Bart's voice took on a hard edge. "I can imagine what you believe. But you're wrong. I work for Sally, and that's all. She deserves better than either one of us." Bart stood his ground. "Move, Johnson, the lady wants to leave."

Orin stepped aside and Bart escorted Sally out of the bedroom and back down the stairs. He took her outside, helped her into the wagon, and then went back to assist Chris Hillis in loading her belongings. Once the wagon was filled he got in and took the reins from Sally. The procession started, Hillis again leading the way, as Sally stared straight ahead. Once they were back through the gates, Sally let out an audible sigh and turned her head in Bart's direction. "Thank you, Bart."

"So that's Orin Johnson, huh?"

"That's the bastard."

They made the turn back to the main road in silence. When they'd driven a little further Sally calmly offered, "You deserve an explanation. Meet me in my office at six o'clock, and I'll tell you everything. But I'm warning you right now, I'll be drinking through most of it. And you may never want to speak to me again after I tell you the whole story."

XXXXXXXX

The remainder of the morning was spent trying to unload and store Sally's belongings in the tiny spare room of Mary Clennon's house. Box after box of fancy dresses, feather boas and fake jewels were unloaded from the wagon and piled high in the corners of the room, until it threatened to vomit satin and lace all over the rest of the house.

Mary was laughing by the time they got the last box from the wagon. "Honestly, Sally, what are you doing with all this? You can only wear one dress at a time!"

Sally laughed. "You sound just like – never mind."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you think of unhappy things."

"It's alright, Mary, none of this is your fault. And you have no idea how happy I am that you're letting me stay here. I promise I'll contribute my fair share."

"I couldn't let you go back there. Not after what he did to you."

"Where did Bart go?"

"He's teaching Matt to ride. He promised a lesson this afternoon."

"Your son misses his father, doesn't he? I've seen the way he took to Bart."

Mary shook her head. "His father and his Uncle Bret, both within a month. It was hard on him. Bart being here has really helped."

"Do you know how long he's gonna stay?"

"No, and that's the only thing I worry about. What happens when he leaves too?"

The saloon owner sat down, exhausted. "I could use a drink," she proclaimed, fanning herself.

"How about some lemonade instead?" Mary offered.

"I'll go for that." She watched Mary pour two glasses and then sit down. "You know Bart intends to kill Hinkel, don't you?"

"I hope you're wrong, but I don't think you are. There must be a way to stop him, Sally."

"Maybe the truth will work," Sally replied.

"The truth about what?"

"The truth about what happened, and why. At least it's the truth that I know." Sally tried to sound hopeful.

"I pray that it will," Mary finished.


	18. A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 18 – A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

After carrying Sally's boxes into the little house, he needed to sit down so the world would stop spinning. It wasn't the first time he'd had a concussion, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but it was turning into one of the most inconvenient. How do you teach a youngster to ride a horse when you literally can't see straight?

Mary made lemonade and he poured a glass, then sat at the kitchen table while he encouraged his head to slow down. Eventually it began to obey him, only because it wanted to and not through any sense of intimidation. He pulled his pocket watch out and it took a minute or two to focus on the time of day, realizing that it was nearly time for Matt to arrive home from school. He drank the glass and finished just as the boy came through the front door.

"Uncle Bart, I'm ready to go. Are you?"

"Sure, Matt. In just a minute. How about some lemonade first?"

"Okay. Did Momma make it?"

"She sure did. Grab a glass there and I'll join ya."

"You already had a glass. Aren't you full?"

It was a reasonable question, and one that Bart typically would have answered in the affirmative, but he was willing to drink another just to give his head the extra time it seemed suddenly to need. "You know, Matt, there's always room for more lemonade."

So the two 'men' sat at the table, one's head full of arithmetic and spelling, the other trying to keep his head empty for a few minutes of blessed relief. Every waking moment of every day was increasingly filled with thoughts and memories of his brother, and he knew it was liable to explode if he didn't do something soon about Rob Hinkel. And now to top it off, Sally insisted it was Orin Johnson who'd given the order to have Bret killed.

Where did that leave him? Why had Johnson wanted his brother dead? And was he also behind Taylor Clennon's murder? No one seemed to know the answer to that question. None of it made any sense. And the spinning his head kept trying to do certainly wasn't helping matters any.

"Uncle Bart? Are you ready to go?" asked the young man at the table with him, who was most anxious to have another riding lesson.

"Yep, Matt, let's get you back to the livery. We'll see how much you remember from the other day." Bart stood up from the table, too fast evidently, and he had to put his hands back down to steady himself. Matt was already looking anxiously at the front door and didn't see him stagger slightly. Good, the seven-year-old didn't need any more worries.

The entire trip to the livery Matt kept going over the things he needed to check when the mare was being saddled. Bart tried to pay attention to what the boy was telling him, but the majority of his energy was spent on trying just to stay upright and keep walking. Once the saddling was actually in progress his head seemed to clear up some, and they got Bret's horse ready to ride without incident.

Bart helped Matt mount and they began with the same round-and-round drills they'd ended with the other day. Once it became apparent that the boy was doing well with walking, Bart moved the mare into a gentle trot and Matt held on for dear life. "Ok Matt, you're fighting her. Just relax and let your body go with her. No, son, you're still trying to move opposite her instead of with her. Come here for a minute and let me show you."

He got Matt down out of the saddle and mounted, then swung the mare around the corral into the same gait. Matt watched him go around in a circle two or three times, then Bart pulled the horse up next to the boy and grabbed Matt by the arm, swinging him up on the saddle in front. Once settled, they made another two or three circles around the corral, with Matt feeling the natural rhythm of the horse. "See, that's how it's supposed to feel," Bart explained and dismounted. This time around Matt could feel the rhythm himself, and had little trouble riding properly with the gait.

They spent almost an hour there, learning the differences between the trot and the canter and how to react to and guide the horse during each. Finally Bart called a halt to the lesson, knowing that he was supposed to meet Sally at six o'clock at the saloon and not wanting to be late.

They went through the same unsaddling and grooming procedures as before, with Matt making most of the correct decisions when it came to currying. As they headed back to the house, Bart almost sent the boy into fits when he announced the next lesson would be out on the trail, with each riding their own horse. Matt took off running, to hurry home and tell his mother all about his progress. Bart was merely looking forward to a bath and some clean clothes until he remembered the reason for his arrival at Sally's two hours early. He hoped that tonight would finally provide him with some answers, or send him off in the correct direction. He looked forward to the meeting.

XXXXXXXX

By five-thirty Sally had already downed three drinks and felt none of them. There was a soft knock on her door and she looked at the watch lying on her desk. Bart was early, but then that was nothing unusual for him.

The door opened, but it wasn't Maverick that stood in the doorway to her office. It was Orin. She pulled open her desk drawer, searching frantically for the derringer she usually kept there. It was nowhere to be seen. There was a smug smile on his face.

"Looking for this?" he asked, holding up the missing gun. "Ira was most helpful in removing it for me."

"What do you want, Orin?" Sally questioned.

"What I've always wanted, Sally. You."

Sally shook her head vehemently. "No more. You gave that up when you did this," and she pointed at her battered face.

"Sally, love, we can get past this. We always have. Come back home now. All will be forgiven." He stepped into the office and closed the door behind him.

"No. I told you to keep your hands off my face. Did you think I didn't mean it?"

Orin quickly lost the smile. "Stop this foolishness now. You know you love me."

"And hate you just as much as I love you." She looked at the watch again. "You better go while you can, Orin. Bart's coming at six o'clock, and I'm telling him the truth."

"Sally, why would you do that? Do you know how much trouble that's going to cause? You know I don't like trouble." He took a step towards her and she picked up the glass she'd been drinking from and threw it at him.

"Because it's time somebody stopped you, that's why. And I think Bart Maverick is just the man to do it. You had his brother shot when he found out the truth about who was behind all the trouble, just like you had Taylor Clennon murdered. This can't continue. You can't just have everyone killed that gets in your way."

"I don't see anybody in my way right now, Sally."

Sally Bodeen stood up from behind the desk. "I'm in your way, Orin."

Johnson looked her square in the face. "You intend to go through with this?"

"Yes."

"Then I guess you are in my way, Sally." He lifted the derringer and aimed it at her, firing both shots into her. She tried to scream but nothing came out, and she clutched her stomach and dropped to the floor. Which is just where Orin deposited the spent derringer.

He wiped his hands off on each other and opened the door, closing it behind him. "Miss Bodeen doesn't wish to be disturbed before her six o'clock appointment, Ira. See to it, would you?"

"Yes, Mr. Johnson," Ira answered automatically and watched Orin stroll casually out the batwing doors.

Bart came back through those same doors about fifteen minutes later. "Coffee, Bart?"

"No, thanks, Ira. Is Sally in?"

"Yes sir, she's waiting for you."

Bart knocked but there was no answer, so he walked into the office. "Sally?" he called when he didn't see her anywhere. He started to walk around the desk and saw her sprawled on the floor, in a pool of blood. "Sally!" he yelled and immediately ran to her. She was breathing, but barely. "IRA!"

Ira came running in and gasped when he saw Bart cradling Sally in his arms. "Miss Sally!"

"Go get Doc Walters, Ira! And for God's sake, hurry!"

The bartender left as quickly as he'd arrived. Bart held her close and felt the life slipping out of her. "Sally, who shot you? Who was it, Sally?"

Her eyes fluttered open for a moment, and she smiled weakly. "Hiya, handsome," she whispered. "You're . . . . . . late."


	19. The Best Thing

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 19 – The Best Thing

Doc shook his head. "Nothin' I can do, Bart. She's gone."

Sassy Sally's was closed, the doors locked tighter than a drum. Bart sat at one of the poker tables, head in his hands, the towel he'd used to wipe Sally's blood off those same hands lying on the floor at his feet. He felt like somebody had reached into him and pulled his insides out. Sally was dead, her blood all over him, and he was no closer to finding out what was going on than he had been the day he arrived in Dodge City.

"Bart, look at me."

He did as ordered and raised his head. Doc stood in front of him, Chris Hillis beside the doctor. "What happened?"

"That's a good question," the gambler answered. "I had a six o'clock meeting with her. I got here a few minutes early and found her just like that. I sent Ira right away to get you, Doc."

"Did you see a gun?" the marshal asked.

"Yeah," Bart answered. "A derringer, on the floor next to her."

Hillis walked away, into the office, and took Ira with him. Doc made his way to the bar and grabbed a bottle and two glasses, then returned to the poker table and sat next to Bart. He poured two shots of brandy and set one glass in front of Sally's floor manager, then drank the second one. Bart reached over, picked up the brandy, and drank it in one long swallow. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and ran his hands through his hair again. "Damn it, Doc, it's my fault. I never shoulda left her alone. I thought she'd be safe here. Where's Ira? I gotta talk to him."

"He's back with Chris. Let the marshal question him." Doc poured himself another brandy. "Do you want another?" he asked the gambler.

Bart waved him off just as the marshal and the bartender returned from Sally's office. "We'll get her outta there in a few minutes, Doc. Bring her down to your office?"

Walters nodded his head. "I'll have the room ready."

Bart spoke up as the bartender walked back to the bar, suddenly unemployed. "You find the derringer?"

"Yeah, Maverick, it was right where you said it was. Looks like she was shot with her own gun. Ira says it was in her desk last time he saw it."

Something about that statement didn't sit right with Bart, but he held his tongue. He looked over at Ira and hazarded a guess what it was the man was hiding. He needed to clear his head; between the dizziness of earlier, the brandy, and the shock of Sally's murder, he'd felt better in his life.

Doc observed him closely, finally speaking up. "I been watchin' you since I got here. Somethin's wrong. Besides Sally, I mean. What is it?"

"I'm alright. I've just been . . . . a little dizzy today. Too much . . . . . too much everything. And now this. Poor Sally. She just got away from him . . . . She told me . . . . she told me she had things I needed to know. About what's goin' on in this town. And now I'll never know . . . . . . about Taylor, or Bret, or . . . . Johnson . . . . . I don't feel so good, Doc . . . . " He tried to stand up, to get outside, to get air. As soon as he reached his feet he took two steps toward the door and collapsed, the spinning room back and getting the best of him. Doc was on the floor with him immediately.

"Bart, son, c'mon Bart, wake up," Doc crooned as he tapped the man's face. "C'mon, I can't have . . . . . I got no more room down there, son." He kept tapping until slowly, ever so slowly, he saw the eyelids open and the brown eyes appear. "Bart, do ya hear me?"

"Mmmmhmmm, Doc, what?" There was confusion in his eyes, and it took a minute to be conscious that he'd collapsed. He started to get up and Doc pushed him back down on the floor.

"I think you better lay there for a minute. Been pushin' yourself too much today? What'd you do this mornin'?"

"Moved Sally outta Johnson's house . . . . . . for all the good it did."

Doc got up from the floor and grabbed the brandy bottle and Bart's glass. "Just thinka this as medicinal," he explained as he poured a small amount in the glass and raised the gambler's head so Bart could swallow it.

"Is that why it tastes so bad? It's really medicine?"

"There's plenty that thinks it is. How's your head now?"

Bart blinked once or twice and Doc let him sit up. "Better."

"Sure, or you just wantin' to get up?"

"I'm sure, Doc. Not dizzy like I was. Let me off the floor, would ya?"

Doc got up himself and extended his hand to help pull the gambler to his feet. "Why don't you go on home and get some sleep?"

"After tonight? Not sure I can, Doc. What am I gonna tell Mary? We don't even know who killed Sally, and everything she owned is in Mary's house right now." He groaned and Doc wondered for a minute if he'd let Bart back up on his feet too soon.

"Don't tell her anything right now. Just go home. There's nothin' else you can do for now. Understand?"

"Yeah." Bart put his hat back on his head. "Yeah, I understand."

XXXXXXXX

He waited for the pounding on the door that never came. The closer it got to morning the more he realized that having one of Sally's bartenders on his payroll was finally paying dividends. If Ira kept his mouth shut about who Sally's last visitor was, he was home free. And that loyalty would be rewarded, but not in the way Ira expected.

It was a split-second decision, to eliminate Sally from his life forever, but as soon as he'd made it he knew it was the right choice. Oh, there was no doubt he loved her, but she was replaceable. Now a more complex question was what was he going to do about a saloon manager? What about that fellow who'd stood up to him this morning when Sally was here? Wasn't that Maverick's brother? Wouldn't that be delicious, to hire his brother to run the saloon?

Well, why not, he reasoned. Maverick had certainly threatened to upend the whole operation, he might as well get some use out of his brother, at least until he could find his next Sally. Yes, that was a good idea. Once it was daylight he'd send for Rob and have Ira taken care of, then he'd make the offer to Maverick. There was no doubt in his mind the offer would be accepted.

He poured himself another brandy from his private stock and raised his glass, "To you, Sally Bodeen. You were the best thing that ever happened to me – until you weren't anymore."

XXXXXXXX

The house was dark and quiet. " _Of course it is,'_ Bart thought, _'it's the middle of the night.'_

Matt was asleep on the settee, and Bart picked him up and carried him in to bed. The boy should be in his own bed. There would be no sleep for Bart tonight, and he didn't want to deprive Matt of a good night's rest. There was still half a pitcher of lemonade on the table; he poured a glass and went outside with it, leaning against the house to light a cigar and drink what was in his glass. The lemonade certainly tasted better than the brandy from earlier, and he remembered Doc's words: "Just thinka this as medicinal."

It had been an awful day, and he was glad it was over. If he could only go back and change one thing, he never would have let Sally go in to work by herself. He shook his head at that mistake – one slip-up and it had cost a life, and probably his chance to ever find out if Orin Johnson was the man behind all the trouble. Including Bret's death.

He smoked the cigar and drank the lemonade, and thought. It looked like he was back at the beginning. He could hear Bret in his head, telling him _'Start over, son, and run the whole scheme again until it makes sense.'_ That was probably the only thing he could do.

To his surprise, he yawned. Maybe he could get some sleep in, after all. He drank the last of the lemonade, took one more draw on the cigar before putting it out, and went inside. Time to start over.


	20. Point Break

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 20 – Point Break

Matt was surprised when he woke up in his own bed that morning for school. He got dressed before going to look for his mother, and found Bart once again asleep on the settee. "Uncle Bart," he whispered as he tried to shake the gambler awake. "Uncle Bart, what are you doing out here?"

"Hmmm?" was the only reply he got.

"Uncle Bart, wake up," and Matt shook a little harder.

"I'm awake, Matt," came a voice, but the man's eyes remained closed.

"How come your eyes aren't open?"

"They are, son, they are. You just can't see 'em."

"No they're not."

"Matt, leave Bart alone. He's trying to sleep," Mary told her son as she came out of her bedroom and into the kitchen.

"Not anymore I'm not," Bart answered, and sat up. He attempted to put his boots on, but was having a difficult time with it. He finally succeeded and rubbed his eyes sleepily. He walked out into the kitchen unsteadily, dreading what he was going to tell Mary once Matt was off to school.

"I'll put some coffee on," Mary offered, already having done so. "Have you heard anything from Sally this morning?" she asked, noticing that the room the saloon manager was staying in appeared to be unoccupied. "She hasn't gone back to Orin Johnson, has she?"

"No," Bart answered. "She hasn't."

"Are you sure?"

"I can guarantee she hasn't."

"Matt, come back in here and eat your oatmeal."

Matt returned obediently to the kitchen, sat at the table and ate his oatmeal. As soon as the coffee was done Mary poured two cups, and she and Bart drank in silence. Once the boy was finished he looked at Bart and asked, "Are we going to do a riding lesson today?"

Bart shook his head reluctantly. "No, Matt, we have to skip today. I have something to take care of this afternoon."

Matt looked downcast for a moment, then brightened back up. "Tomorrow?"

"Sure, tomorrow."

The boy gathered his pencils, kissed his mother good-bye, and waved at Bart. Then he was out the door and gone. Mary immediately turned to Bart. "What's wrong?"

"Mary, I wanted to find a better way – "

"Bart, what's wrong?" There was just the slightest note of panic in her voice.

"Sally's dead."

"What?"

"She was shot yesterday evening, Mary. Right before I was supposed to meet with her."

"Dead. Dead? Who? Why? Where?"

"We don't know who, although I have a pretty good idea. Why I can't answer. Where's easy. In her office at the saloon."

"Are you . . . . are you sure she's dead?" Mary asked, her voice breaking.

Bart nodded. "I found her."

"Why, Bart, why? Was it . . . . was it that animal Johnson?"

"I don't know . . . but it was my fault." He set the coffee cup down and put his head in his hands.

Mary got up and went to him, putting her arms around him. "No, it wasn't your fault. Why do you say that?"

"Because I let her go to work and didn't go with her. I never should have done that."

"That's not your fault, Bart. I thought she was safe at work, too."

He pulled away from Mary and got up from the table. "I should have thought ahead."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know," he answered as he shook his head. "What do we do with her things?"

"I'll go through them and see if there's anything the church can use. If not . . . . . we can burn them if we have to. Nothing goes back to Johnson."

"I agree. Do you want me to help?"

"No. I want to do this. For Sally. Excuse me." Mary hurried out of the room, back to her bedroom, just as there was a knock on the door. Bart opened it to find Marshal Hillis.

"Have you told Mary yet?"

"About Sally? Yeah, just now. Come in. Coffee?"

"Yeah, thanks. Where is she?"

Bart headed towards the kitchen and the coffee, but he pointed at Mary's bedroom. The door was closed. He got out another cup and poured it for the marshal, then refilled his own.

"You're up awful early."

Hillis laughed. "I could say the same about you. Don't gamblers sleep until noon?"

"Only when they play poker all night. Did you come by to check on Mary?"

"No, you," Chris answered. "You didn't look real well last night."

Bart's turn to chuckle a little. "I didn't feel real well last night."

"Ira's disappeared."

"How ya know that?"

"Went by his rooming house before I came here. He packed up and left sometime before I got there. I would imagine he's dead by now."

"You think it was Johnson?"

"Him or Hinkel. 'Cept I can't figure a reason for Rob to shoot Sally. 'Course I can't figure a reason for Rob to shoot anybody. You still fixin' to kill Hinkel?"

Bart looked at the marshal. "Never said I was."

"Maverick, you've stayed in Dodge for some reason. You say it isn't Mary, and Sally's dead. What other reason you got?"

"I wanna know why, Chris."

"Why what?"

"Why they killed my brother. Sally told me it was Johnson that gave the order, and I wanna know why."

"Why didn't you tell me that before?"

Bart leaned back in his chair and took another drink of coffee. "Because I didn't know if I could trust you or not. You mighta been in with 'em."

"And you've decided I'm not?"

"That's right. We may not like each other, but you're not workin' with Johnson or Hinkel."

"And you're sure about that?"

"Yep."

"Come on down to Doc's with me?"

"Let me change clothes. Have another cup a coffee."

"Alright, I will."

XXXXXXXX

Doc was having some coffee himself when they got to his office. He looked up when the two men walked in and asked Bart, "You get any sleep?"

"Some."

"Have a seat," Doc offered, and they sat. "I just pulled two slugs outta Sally. They were definitely from her derringer. Any information on who put 'em there?"

The marshal looked at the gambler, and Bart nodded. "Our best guess is Orin Johnson," Hillis offered. "Ira didn't come by here, did he?"

"Nope," Doc answered. "He missin'?"

"Gone completely," again from Hillis.

"Doesn't surprise me. Ira had to know who it was shot Sally. If he's gone . . . . . . . "

"It was Johnson or Hinkel," Bart finished. "Our guess is Johnson. He's got a motive."

"Somethin' you two don't know," Doc explained. "When Sally was just a saloon girl at Jake's, she was Rob Hinkel's girl. When Orin came to Dodge City he took her away from Rob, built the saloon for her. Sally and Rob were not on good terms."

"I watched 'em, that night at Sally's place," Bart added. "You'd a sworn they hated each other."

"They might have, by that time. Sally was hard to figure out. Johnson hit her, just never in the face. That's why I was so surprised when she left him."

"Everybody's got their breakin' point, Doc," the marshal spoke up. "Maybe she just reached hers."

Bart said nothing. He was the one that told Sally she wasn't going back to Johnson. No man should treat a woman the way he treated her. And now she was dead. Was it all his fault? Was he so desperate to get answers about his brother's shooting he was willing to sacrifice anyone, anything? After all this, what else was he willing to give up?


	21. The Saloon Manager

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 21 – The Saloon Manager

By ten o'clock the town was abuzz with the news of Sally Bodeen's death and Ira Henshaw's disappearance. No one knew where Rob Hinkel was, and Orin Johnson was assumed to be holed up in his 'house' and accepting no visitors. After the visit to Doc's office, Bart went to the telegraph office and sent a wire to his friend Anderson Garrett in Carson City, and another to Declan Savoy in Reno. He still hadn't notified Beauregard in Texas that his oldest son was dead, and he'd decided against it until he had some answers. Pappy would expect nothing less.

When the wires were done, he wandered down to Sally's and unlocked the front doors. Albie was washing glasses but had kept the saloon closed; Bart thought that was a good idea. He looked around the place, expecting Sally to come sashaying out of her office at any moment and hoping that she would. He could wake up from the awful nightmare his life had become; but instead of better, it continued to get worse.

"Bart, there's somebody in Sally's . . . . . . uh, the office that wants to see you."

"Who is it, Albie?"

An unfamiliar voice answered him. "It's Orin Johnson, Mr. Maverick. Won't you come in? Albie, a bottle of brandy and two glasses, please."

"One glass, Albie," Bart corrected. "Coffee, please." He followed Johnson back into what had been Sally's private domain. All traces of the saloon manager were gone, wiped clean like a slate at school on the first day of the new school year. Albie brought the brandy, a glass, and Bart's coffee, into the room and set them up on the desk. Bart remained standing.

"Sit down, please, Mr. Maverick. I have something to discuss with you."

Bart didn't want to, but sit he did, if for no other reason than to have better access to his beverage of choice. "Couldn't wait until the body was cold?" he asked in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

Orin cleared his throat. "Personal feelings aside, Mr. Maverick, I have a business to maintain. Due to the unfortunate accident that befell Miss Bodeen last night, I find myself in dire need of a saloon manager. I'd like to offer the position to you."

Bart almost spit out his coffee. That one he didn't see coming. "After yesterday? Why?"

"Several reasons. You're available. You already know most of the operation. You don't seem to be intimidated by me. And the most important one of all. There's no one else qualified for the job."

"No."

"Good, I – what? No?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Sally was my friend, Johnson. I don't like the way you treated her."

Orin nodded. "I don't like the way it ended, Mr. Maverick. Not my finest hour. But you're turning down a perfectly reasonable offer won't correct that, either. I'll make you the same deal I made Sally – twenty-five percent of the profits and you can run the place anyway you see fit."

"What about Robert Hinkel and his men?"

"They get treated like anybody else. No better, no worse. If they cause trouble, throw them out. This is a business, not a charity event. What do you say?"

"No."

"Thirty percent."

"Forty."

"Thirty-five, and that's as high as I go." Johnson watched the gambler and thought he could imagine what was going through Bart's mind.

"Alright, but the name remains unchanged."

"Agreed. Well, Mr. Maverick, now that we've settled that, I'll leave you to your office. The books are in the bottom left drawer, you'll see that the establishment turns a tidy profit. I assume you will start today?"

"As soon as you're gone."

"Then I shall certainly make all haste to leave. I'd offer to shake hands on the deal, but somehow I have the feeling you'd rather not. Am I correct?"

Bart nodded in agreement. "You are."

"Then I will depart. By the way, I shall handle all arrangements for Miss Bodeen's burial. Make sure the saloon is open tonight, would you? I shall be holding a wake here in Sally's honor. Good-day, Mr. Maverick."

Johnson got up and left the office, then the saloon itself, and Bart was glad he was gone. He never would have accepted the position if he didn't believe that Johnson was directly responsible for at least three deaths – Taylor Clennon's, Sally Bodeen's, and Bret Maverick's. A door into the evil that resided in this town had opened, and Bart couldn't resist the opportunity to walk through it.

Bart left the saloon three hours later, after putting Albie in charge of hiring a new bartender to replace Ira, and leaving orders to open up at four o'clock. He walked back to Mary's house not quite sure of how he was going to explain taking the job and was surprised to find her busily going through Sally's boxes of dresses.

"You lookin' for somethin' special?" he asked her while she opened one crate after another.

"Yes, I am," she answered. "Something decent to bury her in. And this is all I can find."

Bart looked at the dress Mary had laid out on the bed. It was the peach gown that Sally had on the very first time he saw her, the day he'd gotten the job at the saloon. "I think it's perfect," he told Mary, and she smiled at last.

"Good. I do, too. Funeral's this evening at five. Will you be there?"

"I will," he nodded. "There's somethin' I need to tell you."

"Oh Lordy, what now? Don't tell me you're leavin'?"

He shook his head and let go a soft chuckle. "No, Johnson offered me the saloon manager's job. I took it."

Mary stopped in her tracks. "You took it. Why?"

"I have my reasons."

"Do they have anything to do with Taylor, Bret, and Sally?"

"Everything."

"Will you be careful? I've lost enough people this year. I couldn't stand one more."

"Yes, ma'am, I will."

"What are you looking for, Bart? Revenge or answers?"

That was a reasonable question and he gave her an honest answer. "A little of both, Mary. A little of both."


	22. The Fury of a Patient Man

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 22 – The Fury of a Patient Man

Most of the side of town that Bart knew turned out for Sally's funeral. Mary Clennon was the only 'lady' present and was treated with courtesy and respect, and avoided as if she had the plague. Orin Johnson had the nerve to sit front and center at the church, acting more like a grieving husband and less like a murder suspect. That didn't make Bart doubt his guilt any less.

Even Rob Hinkel and his entire crew turned up at the church, and Bart waited for the roof to collapse with the fire of Sodom and Gomorrah and wipe out the whole lot of them. It didn't happen and he was almost relieved, assuming he'd be one of the casualties.

It was a long procession to Boot Hill, and on the way there Bart realized he was glad he hadn't been here for his brother's burial. He wasn't sure how well he would have survived the slow, sad trip up the hill and into the final resting place. There wasn't a dry eye in the crowd as Sally's elegant casket was lowered into the ground, and Orin Johnson wept copiously. Bart watched the show that Johnson put on for everyone's benefit and had to remind himself that patience was what he needed more than anything else right now.

Mary asked Bart to wait until everyone was gone so she could say something to her recently found and quickly departed friend. She stood at the new grave for a few minutes, talking in a soft voice, and then walked the few feet to Taylor's grave. Mary bent down and left a kiss from her fingertips on his marker, then turned back towards Bart and the buggy. He stepped forward to meet her and get her up and into her seat, then took just a minute at Bret's grave. "Watch out for Sally, would ya big brother?"

The trip back to town was made in silence, both lost in their own private grief, not only for the woman that had just been laid to rest. "Johnson's holding a wake at the saloon," Bart informed Mary as he stopped the buggy in front of the house. "I have to be there."

"It's alright, Bart, I assumed you'd have to. I have things to do. And Matt will be home. I have to explain all this to him."

"If you'd rather not, Mary, I can try."

"No, it's alright. I've almost gotten used to it. That's the frightening part. When will you be back?"

"Around midnight. I'm closin' it down then, Orin Johnson be damned. Make sure Matt sleeps in his own room tonight. I'll go back to the spare room later. One more night on the settee won't hurt."

"I've gone through all her clothes. There're just a few other things there, a journal and some jewelry that looks awfully real. Do you suppose she could have actually had diamonds?"

"Who knows. I guess it depends on how guilty Johnson felt after he beat her."

"That wasn't the first time? He'd done it before?"

Bart nodded, sorry to be the bearer of more bad news. "Evidently he did it regularly. And she stayed with him. A man like that doesn't deserve . . . . . he deserves to die like the dog he is."

"As long as he doesn't take anyone else with him," Mary reached her gloved hand over to touch Bart's. "Matt needs the uncle he's got left."

"Speaking of Matt, where is he?"

"He went home with Billy Kendrick. They'll be home soon. Do you have time for supper?"

"Nope," Bart's answer came quickly, as he got out of the buggy and offered Mary his hand to climb down. "I'm going straight to Sally's after dropping the buggy at the livery. I want to see just what I'm up against."

"Remember to be careful," Mary left him with that as a parting remark. He climbed back into the buggy and ran the rig down to the livery, then walked back to Sally's. The supposed 'wake' was in full swing, and more than half the town was inside partying to Sally's memory. All the new saloon manager could do was shake his head. Albie was still behind the bar, and Bart got his normal coffee and went into Sally's . . . . . . oops, his office, closing the door behind him. He sat behind the desk and thought again about the woman he was mourning. A glance at the floor told him that most of the blood had been scrubbed away from the spot where Sally expired, but all Bart could see was her wan smile as she died in his arms.

Orin Johnson killed her, just as he'd ordered Rob Hinkel to get rid of Bret, and as of right now he had not one shred of proof that could be used to convict either of them. There was a knot in his stomach that wouldn't go away, and he knew it was going to stay there until he could do something about the two that were at the least boss and subordinate, at the most partners. But what?

XXXXXXXX

Matt came in the front door whistling. That was something Taylor taught his son, but Matt hadn't done any of it since his father died. Mary knew she had to tell him about Sally before he went back to school tomorrow, but he seemed so happy and content that she put it off all evening. Right before bed he asked her a question that ultimately prompted the conversation.

"Why did Uncle Bart have to go in to work this afternoon? I thought Sally handled the daytime and he handled the nighttime."

"Well, Sally did handle the daytime, honey, but Uncle Bart is gonna have daytime now, too."

"But what's Sally gonna do?"

"Matt, come here and sit with me."

Her son looked at her warily. "Momma, what is it?"

Mary knew exactly what he was asking her. Every time she had to tell him something upsetting she had him sit next to her on the settee. Tonight was to be no exception.

"It's Sally, honey. She doesn't work at the saloon anymore."

"Why not?"

"There was an accident, Matt. Sally is . . . . . . . . Sally's in heaven with Daddy and Uncle Bret now."

"Sally's dead?"

"Yes, Matt, Sally died."

"What about all her stuff?"

"The ladies at the church are going to take her clothes, honey. Everything else is, well, I guess it's ours now."

"So Uncle Bart is going to get his room back?"

"Yes, he is."

"Okay. I'm tired, momma. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Matt." The boy started to go to his bedroom, then unexpectedly ran back and kissed his mother on the cheek.

"I love you, momma."

"I love you too, Matt."

She watched her little boy disappear behind the door in his room and whispered, "Thank you, God." She sat the rest of the night in the front room and cried.

XXXXXXXX

About eleven o'clock Bart finally emerged from the office, having gone over the books one more time just to be sure he knew where things stood. The chaos of earlier had settled down and he was able to have a conversation with Albie about the bartender's job. "We've got a backup, boss, named Art. He came by today and we talked. He's willing to take over the daytime so I can take over the nighttime."

"Is that what you want to do, Albie?" Bart asked him.

"Yeah, I guess. I don't wanna put Art on at night, he hasn't got enough experience right now to handle it. Maybe in a few weeks. Is that alright with you?"

"Whatever you think. You're in charge of the bar."

"Thanks, Bart. Or should I say Mr. Maverick?"

"Nope. Bart. Albie, did you see Ira before he disappeared?"

"No. But I bet Ira's dead."

"I do too," Bart told him. "But why do you think so?"

"Because he was on Orin Johnson's payroll."

"He was, huh? So if it was Johnson that walked in and shot Sally . . . . . . "

"Ira wouldn't have said a word."

"Why would Orin keep the night man on the payroll?"

Albie chuckled slightly. "Miss Sally was . . . . . adventurous, sometimes. Especially if Orin was out of town."

"I see. So he had Ira watch her."

"Yes, sir."

"What do you know about Rob Hinkel?"

The bartender frowned. "Miss Sally was his girlfriend a long time ago. Before he went bad."

"Went bad?" Bart questioned.

"Him and the marshal grew up together. They fought in the war together. When the war was over, Hillis came back to be the marshal. Hinkel came back . . . . . different. He did anything, took any job for pay. Legal or not. Sally left him and hooked up with Johnson. A step up, at first. But Johnson weren't no better than Hinkel, just had more money. Then even that weren't enough. That's when the trouble started."

Before Albie could continue, Rob Hinkel staggered up to the bar. He didn't look like a happy man. "Guess I can't call you 'floor man' anymore, can I?" Bart watched Hinkel but didn't respond to his question. "Whatta I call you now, 'saloon man'?"

"Maverick works."

Rob changed the tone of his questions. "You found her?"

Bart nodded. "I did."

"Did she say anything?" There was anguish in the question.

"She told me I was late," Bart answered.

"Late?"

"I don't know what she meant. Maybe to save her."

"Anything else?"

"No. Nothin' else."

"At least she didn't die alone." Having gotten what he was looking for, Rob Hinkel turned and left the saloon. Bart looked back at Albie, who shrugged his shoulders.

It might have been over a long time ago, but somewhere down deep inside Robert Hinkel still loved Sally Bodeen.


	23. Love and Other Subjects

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 23 – Love and Other Subjects

It was early when Bart got in, at least for him. It was late for Mary, but she was still awake.

"I didn't expect to find you up at this hour," the gambler told her when he found her sitting on what had turned into his bed.

"I didn't expect to be up at this hour," she replied. "I can't sleep. Too much on my mind."

"Sally?"

"Mostly. Did we do the wrong thing?" There was a distinct note of doubt in her voice.

"Lookin' to place blame? You can't, cause I've already placed it. On me."

"Why? You were only trying to get her away from that animal, Johnson."

"Maybe that's what got her killed," Bart answered. "That thought's been botherin' me all night."

"Did you see him? At the wake, I mean."

"Oh yeah, he was there. It was just a big party to him. All that sorrowful stuff was left at Boot Hill. I saw Hinkel, too. That's the man really upset."

"Rob Hinkel? I didn't even know he liked Sally."

"Before Johnson. They were together at one time. He still loves her."

Mary blinked. Had she heard Bart right? "Rob Hinkel still loves Sally Bodeen?"

"Yep."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. He was a real mess, not that fake stuff like Johnson pawned off on the town."

She shook her head. "Poor Rob. Even with everything he's done – I know how he feels."

"I think you better try to get some sleep." Bart reached down to Mary and pulled her into a standing position. "That boy's gonna need breakfast soon, and his Uncle Bart's no good at makin' oatmeal."

Mary giggled, the thought of Bart trying to cook breakfast for her son more than she could stand. Then she got serious again. "I told him about Sally."

"How'd he take it?"

She shrugged. "Like it was nothing unusual. He asked what we were going to do with her things. I told him I didn't know."

"Unless Johnson lays claim to them, I guess whatever's left is yours. You said something about jewelry?"

"Yes, come take a look at this," Mary beckoned him to follow her into the spare room. "This isn't real, is it?"

Mary had picked up a necklace and held it out for Bart to see. He looked at it a long time before handing it back to her. "I think it is, Mary."

"Oh my gosh! What about the rest of this?" She indicated quite a bit lying on the bed. Another necklace, three bracelets and five or six pairs of sparkling earrings. "Surely not all this, too?"

Bart sat down on the bed and examined each piece carefully. "Looks like it. Sally was saving nuts for the winter."

Mary shook her head sadly. "Too bad it snowed before she could cash it in."

XXXXXXXX

Bart woke just as Matt was getting ready for school. "Hey, Matt," he called, and Matt came over to the settee.

"I thought you were goin' back to Sally's . . . . I mean your room," Matt told him.

"I will," Bart answered. "How you doin' this mornin'?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, I guess."

"You ready for another lesson?"

Suddenly Matt was excited. "Gosh, yes. Can we do it today?"

"I don't see why not. When you come home, we'll ride out to Boot Hill and visit everybody. That okay with you?"

"Yes, sir. That'd be great. I thought Momma said you had to go to work during the day, too."

"I should, Matt, but your next lesson is more important. I'll be here waiting when you get home, okay?"

"Yes, sir. Momma!" Matt went running for his mother, who was already making the oatmeal that 'Uncle Bart' insisted he couldn't. "Did you hear, Momma? Uncle Bart and I are going out to visit Daddy."

"I heard, Matt. Quiet down now, Bart didn't get much sleep last night."

"I'm not the only one, Mary."

"Yes, but I don't have to go to work later."

"I'll manage. How about some coffee?" Bart sat up and put his boots on. "I could use some. How about you?"

"I could use a lot of it." Mary turned to her son, who was dawdling over his breakfast. "Matt. Get a move on it."

"Yes, Momma. I'm going. Bye, Uncle Bart."

"Bye, Matt."

And like a small tornado, the boy was gone. Mary burst out laughing. "I wanted to go to school."

"I sure didn't. Bret had to do everything he could to get me up in the mornin'."

The widow sighed and sat down at the table, waiting for the coffee to be done. Bart took the seat opposite her, wondering what else had been on her mind last night besides Sally. He waited to see if she would say anything. When the coffee was ready to drink Bart got up and put the cups on the table, then brought the pot over and poured. Mary looked up at him. "How did we get here, Bart?"

"By stagecoach, Mary."

"You know that's not what I meant."

Bart took a sip of coffee before speaking. "What did you mean?"

"You've got no roots. I've got nobody in Dodge but my boy. Matt's got no father. And here the three of us sit, the oddest family I've ever seen. What are we doing? Where are we going? Why are we here?"

"Everybody's gotta be someplace. There's nothin' keepin' you here if you don't wanna stay."

"I can't leave. There's a grave up on Boot Hill that keeps me here. What are you going to do about that?"

"I don't know, Mary. I never thought about Bret bein' buried anywhere."

"Does your father know yet?"

Bart shook his head. "Nope. Not gonna tell him until it's taken care of."

"You mean until Rob Hinkel's dead."

"Somethin' like that, yeah."

"You don't have to kill him, you know."

The gambler looked across the table at the widow but never said anything. He finished his coffee and for once didn't get up for more. After a few minutes of silence he finally spoke.

"Yes, I do."

"Why?" she asked. "That won't bring back your brother. You could stay here with us and help me raise Matt. You're so good with him."

"You don't love me, Mary."

"I love the way you are with my son. What you give him. What you do for him. I think you love him, too."

Bart had been reflecting on that himself. Some part of him had fallen in love with the child, and he wanted only the best for Matt. "The boy needs a father, Mary, a whole lot more than he needs me. I'm a gambler. That's all I've ever been, and that's all I'll ever be. He needs somebody that's gonna be there for him, day in and day out. I can't promise that."

"I know. I was just hoping. It's so easy around you."

He laughed then. "It's easy because you don't love me."

"I suppose. I'm sorry, I don't. But I like you a lot. Does that count for anything?"

Bart yawned right after Mary did. "I think we should quit worryin' and try to go back to sleep. Whatta ya say?"

"I say you're right. Let's do."


	24. Help from Above

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 24 – Help From Above

More sleep helped, and by late morning Bart was up and in the office at Sally's. Art made his first appearance as the daytime bartender and Bart found him to be sharp, personable and funny. And quick to pick up on the fact that the new boss was a coffee addict.

"Are ya sure ya don't want somethin' in it, boss?" was the first serious question tendered.

"I'm sure, Art. Just black coffee, honest."

"Always?"

"Always."

"Just makin' sure."

Bart chuckled and went back to work, checking the latest purchase orders for liquor. By two o'clock he was burned out and ready to make arrangements at the livery for an extra horse for the day. He spent the next hour grooming both animals and getting them ready for the ride, and it felt good to be involved in something that didn't require him to think.

Just as he finished Matt came running up, so excited to actually be riding on his own horse all the way to Boot Hill that he had trouble containing himself. "Are we ready, Uncle Bart? Can we go now? I've been ready all day!" came tumbling out all at once, and he made Bart laugh. Who knew a few short weeks ago that he would actually be able to stand in the livery and laugh?

"Okay, Matt. Let's see what you can do on your own. Get up there by yourself."

It was a test, and Matt passed by using his ingenuity. He moved the mare closer to the fence and used it as a way to get up and into the saddle on his own. He sat straight and proud on her back, and the teacher beamed. "You all ready?"

"Yes, sir," came the quick reply, and Bart allowed his young protégé to lead the way. The trip was slow and easy, with the gambler keeping a watchful eye on the new rider. Matt did a masterful job on the ride out and handled himself like an old pro rather than a greenhorn. Taylor Clennon would be proud.

Once again the riders split up and went to different spots. Bart didn't have much new to say to Bret this visit, and he spent most of the time listening to Matt tell his father everything of importance that had occurred over the last few weeks. When the boy finally quit talking Bart noticed him writing something on a rather odd looking piece of paper, and he casually strolled over to have a look.

Whatever Matt was using had some kind of writing on the back of it, and Bart finally interrupted the growing-up-quickly lad when he recognized the scrawl. He'd spent the last two days looking at that very same handwriting. It was Sally Bodeen's.

"Matt, can I see that paper you're writing on for a minute?" he asked cautiously.

"Sure, Uncle Bart. I was just writing a note out for momma," the boy responded, and handed the paper to the gambler.

Bart took it, shaking slightly as he turned the paper over and saw that it was, indeed, written by Sally's hand _. 'And so another week passes and I am no closer to getting out than I was before . . . . '_

"Where did you get this, Matt?" Bart was almost afraid to ask.

"From that book that Momma found in Miss Sally's things. She said I could use it to write on. Did I do something wrong?" the boy asked.

Book? And without warning Bart recalled what Mary had told him on that day _: "There're just a few other things there, a journal and some jewelry that looks awfully real."_ It had gone right past him and taken a child to bring it to his attention. Could Sally have kept a written account of Orin Johnson's deeds and misdeeds? Was this the truth she'd been going to tell him about when she was murdered?

"Do you still have that book, Matt?"

"Yes, sir. It's at home. Do you want to see it?"

"I surely do, Matt. I surely do."

XXXXXXXX

Bart did everything he could think of to stay calm and not let Matt know how important the 'book' he had was. They took their time riding back to town and made sure both horses were fed and watered before leaving the livery. By the time they returned to the little house Bart was about to jump out of his skin.

Mary wasn't home and Matt took him straight into his bedroom. There on the edge of his bed sat a journal book, the kind people used to keep a diary of their lives. Matt picked it up and handed it to Bart, and he flipped it open in a random spot to see page after page of Sally's scrawl:

' _July 15_ _th_ _– I knew this wasn't gonna be a good day when I woke up and I could already hear Orin in the hallway giving orders to Robert. 'Burn 'em out,' he said, 'and make sure you let it be known why. They don't pay for protection, they don't get any.' I can imagine Robert nodding silently and carrying out the bosses orders. Oh Rob, when did you become Satan's pawn?'_

Bart almost dropped the book. It appeared to be all here; all he had to do was read through it and find the incriminating pages. _'Bless you, Sally Bodeen,'_ he thought to himself. _'I don't know why you kept it, but I sure am glad you did.'_

"Matt, I need to hang onto this for a little while. If I buy you a brand new journal to replace this one, would that be okay with you?"

Matt nodded, thrilled at the thought of getting something of his very own to write in. "Sure, Uncle Bart. That'd be great."

Bart took the journal back to the spare room and hid it. When he came back out into the main room he asked the boy, "Please don't tell anyone about the book, Matt. Not even your mother. I – I want to surprise her with what's inside and it won't be a surprise if you tell her. Alright?"

"Yes, sir," Matt answered, not in the least concerned with how important the possession might turn out to be.

"I have to go back to Sally's now, are you alright here by yourself for a while?"

"Sure. Or I can go next door to Sally Jean's and visit with her and the puppy?" There was a hopeful sound in Matt's voice, and Bart could see the excitement in his eyes. The puppy was still fairly new, and Matt was in love with the animal already.

"That's even better. Why don't you do that?" And before Bart could say anything else Matt was gone. He went back to his room and changed clothes; he had to maintain the illusion as long as it took to discover what evidence he might or might not have. Looking like the manager of a saloon and a well-dressed gambler he headed out once more, in a hurry to get started and get the night over with as quickly as possible. The information he'd been searching for all these weeks was within his grasp; all he had to do now was find it.

And exact his revenge.


	25. Journals from the Dark Side

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 25 – Journals from the Dark Side

Bart left Sally's around four a.m., leaving orders with Albie to close down and lock up at five o'clock. He hurried back to the Clennon house, hoping that he would find Mary asleep so he could begin the meticulous reading of Sally Bodeen's journal. His luck held; the house was dark and quiet. He unearthed the hidden treasure and slipped off his coat and shoulder holster before crawling up on the bed to begin reading.

' _March 3_ _rd_ _– Just seems like no matter what I do I can't make Orin happy anymore. Today I came back to the house and he decided I was home too early. He threw a bottle at me and caught me across the backside. Had to pick glass out of a place glass don't belong. Remind me not to come home before five a.m._

 _March 25_ _th_ _– Overheard Orin, Robert and Ben talking about who to go after next. Orin was fed up with Taylor Clennon and gave orders to start retaliating against the newspaper attacks. He punched me in the stomach when I didn't bring his drink fast enough. Why God? Why?_

 _April 14_ _th_ _– Heard Orin tell Robert to 'do what you have to do to take care of the newspaper man.' Clennon has been refusing to pay protection for months and Orin is tired of being defied. I asked Orin to let it go and he threw me down the stairs. I think I broke two or three ribs._

 _May 6_ _th_ _– Clennon's friend Bret Maverick arrived in town and immediately started asking questions. I can see trouble coming, but I hope I'm wrong. The man is just too damn good looking to kill. Maybe I should warn him. I wonder how bad Orin would hurt me if I did?_

 _May 22_ _nd_ _– Bret Maverick came into Sally's tonight and we talked for over two hours. I wasn't going to tell him anything, but I ended up spilling the whole thing. I told him to watch his back; if Orin caught even a hint that I'd told the truth to an outsider, he'd be dead sooner or later. I'm not sure he believes me, but I've seen it too many times to doubt it._

 _June 9_ _th_ _– Buried Maverick today. I'm sure Robert did something to provoke him into the gunfight; I heard him and Orin laughing about it when I got home. I feel like it's my fault. There must be a spy somewhere; Orin seemed to know that I'd met with Maverick. I should have warned him away sooner than I did. Took another beating just because Orin felt like it._

 _June 29_ _th_ _– I hired Bart Maverick today to be my floor manager. He played me and I know it, but he's so sweet and reminds me so much of his brother. I think Mary Clennon's already got her eye on him, from what I hear at nights. Chris Hillis is about to die of jealousy. Please God, protect the gambler. He doesn't know what he's walked into._

 _July 15_ _th_ _– I knew this wasn't gonna be a good day when I woke up and I could already hear Orin in the hallway giving orders to Robert. 'Burn 'em out,' he said, 'and make sure you let it be known why. They don't pay for protection, they don't get any.' I can imagine Robert nodding silently and carrying out the bosses orders. Oh, Rob, when did you become Satan's pawn?_

 _July 31_ _st_ _– Another one of those days from hell, delivered via Lucifer's servant. Why do I stay here? Orin's up to no good again, I know it. All the doors in the house are closed and locked, and I feel like I'm in prison. Who is he going to have killed today?_

 _August 7_ _th_ _– Can't take any more. Got to get out before he kills me. Maybe Bart Maverick can help me, but what if I ask and he ends up like his brother? God give me strength.'_

Bart was sick to his stomach by the time he got done reading the entries. There were more, but he couldn't stand knowing that Sally was undergoing regular beatings and she told no one. No wonder she took what little pleasure she could find wherever it was offered.

He heard Mary in the kitchen and knew he should go to sleep, but it was impossible after what he'd just read. Poor Sally, she'd been abused for so long that she didn't realize there were people willing to help her.

Then the question became – did he go to the Marshal with the evidence or do what he'd come here to do? There was a decision to be made on his part, and he was going to have to chew on it a while before his mind was made up. Pappy would tell him to avenge his brother without getting killed himself. Bret would err on the side of caution. _'Don't try to handle things on your own, Brother Bart. You're smarter than that.'_

He sat in indecision so long that he finally fell asleep. When he woke it was time to go to Sally's, and he'd still come to no conclusion. He changed clothes wearily; now that he knew the truth about almost everything he was full of indecision. He put the journal back in its hiding place, but questions still plagued him. What kind of a game was Orin Johnson playing? And did he have any idea that Sally had kept a journal that could prove fatal to him? How much did Ira know about Sally, and what did he tell Johnson before he 'disappeared'?

"I wondered how long you were going to sleep," Mary said when he emerged dressed and ready to go.

"It was late when I got done with what I was doin'," he explained. "Sorry that I missed so much. How's Matt this afternoon?"

"Funny you should ask. He was real quiet when he came home from school. Did you have another lesson for today?"

Bart shook his head. "Nope. I guess we can do another one tomorrow. He's done so good I don't think he needs much more. He's a fine rider, Mary. You should come with us the next time. You'd be real proud of him."

It was easy for her to smile about Matt, and she did. "I will come with you all, thanks. Tomorrow after school?"

A nod this time from the gambler. "Will you tell Matt? I have to go to Sally's. I want to let him know I haven't forgotten."

"Yes, I will. Any chance of you slipping out for a while to have supper tonight? I'd like to tell you what I found out about rebuilding the paper."

"Maybe. What time?"

"Around eight. My treat. I'll meet you at the hotel dining room."

Bart grinned, in spite of himself. "Must be good news if you're buyin.'

"It is. I'll see you there."

XXXXXXXX

This was another of those days that came out of nowhere at the saloon. A cattle drive had just rolled through on its way to Kansas City and half of the drovers had been given the afternoon off. Every single one of them had decided that Sally's was the place to be, and Albie was up to his elbows in thirsty men. Bart stayed behind the bar to help for about two hours and things finally started to slow down around seven o'clock.

That's when Robert Hinkel and his gang came in. Bart wasn't expecting that and had no desire to be in the saloon with that bunch after reading Sally's journal. "I'm goin' in the back, Albie," he told his bartender and slipped into the office the next chance he got. It was less than five minutes later that there was a knock on the door and against his better judgment he called "Come in." It was Chris Hillis.

"Marshal, something special I can do for you?"

"Maverick, I thought we were on the same page. When did you take over Sally's job?'

"Right after the wake," Bart answered. "You got a problem with that?"

"You gonna sit there and tell me you don't? You know what Johnson's responsible for in this town, and now you're workin' for him?"

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, marshal."

"Just what are you up to?"

Bart shook his head and chuckled. "This is an awful suspicious town, Hillis."

"And I'm an awful suspicious man, Maverick. You aimin' to be joinin' your brother up on Boot Hill?"

Bart's expression changed to one of determination. "Not in this or any other life."

"Alright then, let me know when you come up with a way to avoid that, would ya?"

Before Bart could say anything else he and the Marshal heard shouting and the sounds of a fight. Hillis hurried out into the saloon with Bart close on his heels. They both had their guns out before they crossed through the doorway.

An argument had turned into a fight between one of the drovers and Hinkel's lieutenant Morissey and suddenly a gun was being waved around. Hillis dove into what little space there was between the two men and attempted to break it up. Morissey's gun went off and caught the marshal in the shoulder, and abruptly Bart's decision over how to handle Sally's journal was made for him. A wounded marshal would be no good to him at all.

The drover ran and Albie hurried for Doc Walters. Morissey dropped the gun and stood there, trying to look innocent. It wasn't a major injury, but it hurt like hell, as Bart well knew from his own experiences. By the time Doc got there, Hillis had arrested Morissey and gotten his hands on the drover, who'd been stopped by two Dodge City residents as he ran for his horse.

Quickly the marshal had both combatants in handcuffs and was not happy about the wounded shoulder. "Aw, Doc, how am I supposed to do my job with a bum arm? Maverick, help me get these idiots down to the jail, would ya?"

Bart obliged the lawman and helped deliver the two men to jail. Once they'd been locked up and Hillis was on his way to Doc's office to have the bullet removed, Bart continued on to the hotel and found Mary waiting. "I thought you were going to stand me up," she told him.

"Nope, just had a little gunplay down at Sally's. HilisChris got shot accidentally while trying to break it up. Don't look panicked, he's okay. Morissey and one of the drovers coming through got into it. They're in jail and Hillis is down at Doc's. Do you wanna go down there? We can have dinner tomorrow."

Mary was up and out of her seat. "I want to see if he's alright," she explained, kissed Bart on the cheek and hurried off to the doctor's office. Bart sat back in his chair.

"Hmm, who would have guessed?" he pondered out loud. "Looks like Matt's gonna have a daddy after all."

Bart ordered supper and ate quickly, feeling the need to return to Sally's. He wanted to know what was happening after the fight and needed to figure out a plan of attack going forward. Now that he knew he couldn't involve the marshal he had to determine the time and place to expose both Rob Hinkel and Orin Johnson. Once they were dealt with he still had the most difficult task of all to perform – informing Pappy that he was the only son the old man had left.


	26. Clean-Up at Sally's

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 26 – Clean-Up at Sally's

Sally's was back to being an ordinary saloon by the time Bart returned. Most of the drovers were gone and Rob Hinkel was the only member of his group still at the bar. As a matter of fact, that's just where he was when the saloon manager walked into the place. He looked up from his whiskey and caught Bart's eye. "Maverick," was enough to make Bart stop.

"I didn't kill Sally. I never would have harmed a hair on her head."

Bart rested both his hands on the bar and took a good look at the gunslinger, who was quietly inebriated. "Why are you telling me that?"

"Because you want to know who did. And it if wasn't me, that only leaves one person."

"The same man who ordered my brother murdered?"

Hinkel nodded. "That would be the one."

Bart pushed on, to see what kind of response he'd get. "Would you be willin' to testify to that in court?"

A small chuckle. "So I could swing from the end of a rope?"

The gambler shrugged. "Thought I'd ask."

"He's not afraid to get his hands dirty."

"I'll remember that. Thanks for the information." Bart left the bar and went into his office. There had to be a way to rattle Orin Johnson.

He reached into his coat pocket for a cigar and pulled out the piece of Sally's journal that Matt had been writing on at the graveyard. A smile spread slowly across his face, and he picked up the pen on his desk. He wrote a brief note on the back of the paper and folded it in half, then slipped it into an envelope and sealed it. He inscribed 'ORIN JOHNSON' on the front of the envelope and put it inside his coat.

XXXXXXXX

When Sally's closed for the night, Bart helped Albie finish setting up the bar for the next morning. As they completed the task he casually asked his bartender, "Didn't you tell me earlier you had to drop off the liquor order at Johnson's ranch for his signature?"

Albie nodded. "Yeah. At least I don't have to get his approval. Just drop it off and wait for the delivery."

Bart pulled out the sealed envelope. "When are you goin' up there?"

"On my way in tonight. You want that dropped off too?"

"No. I want you to put this in his hands. And make sure you don't do it until you're ready to come in tonight, alright?"

"You got it, boss. Should I bring, uh, protection?"

Bart shook his head. "Stay out of it, Albie. It's not your fight. I don't want you caught in the crossfire."

"Miss Sally was my friend, Bart. If he killed her . . . . . . "

"You've got a family. Stay out of it."

The bartender finally nodded. "Alright. But if you need help . . . . . "

"Thanks, Albie. This one's all mine."

He was quiet on the way back to the Clennon house, but he was at peace. He'd finally put in motion what he hoped would be the trap that ultimately netted his prey, the man that had ordered his brother and so many others murdered. The sun was just peeking over the horizon and he stopped outside the house to light a cigar and have a talk with the brother that still resided in his head.

' _You're takin' a big risk, Brother Bart. What if he doesn't fall for it?'_

Bart laughed, a soft chuckle that helped reinforce his feelings. _'He will.'_

' _And then what?'_

' _Then I get to do what I've waited weeks to do. I get to kill him.'_

' _That's cold-blooded murder, Brother Bart. How are you gonna live with that?'_

' _I'll sleep just fine, Brother Bret. Don't you worry about it.'_

There were no more arguments to be made. Bart finished his cigar in silence and went inside just as Matt and Mary were getting up, ready to begin another day. Where he would go or what he would do after all this was done were questions he hadn't yet answered, but he knew one thing for sure – he was ready for this to be over with.

XXXXXXXX

Bart leaned on the corral railing and watched Matt ride. Mary stood beside him and beamed, proud and grateful that the man next to her had given her son such a gift. "He really knows what he's doing."

"I told you he did. He's a real natural. He'll be ready to go out by himself by the time Hillis is fit to ride again."

"What has that got – " Mary stopped as soon as she saw Bart's face. "Oh. It's too soon, isn't it?"

"It's never too soon to go on with life, Mary."

"Why don't you take your own advice, Bart?"

He shifted positions and called out to Matt, "Take her around the other way, Matt." Then he turned his attention back to Mary. "I have, Mary, I have."

"I don't like the sound of that. What are you up to?"

"Funny, Chris asked me the same thing. I'm not up to anything."

"Are you sure? You seem . . . . . . almost peaceful. Like you've settled something that's been bothering you."

"You're imaginin' things again, Mary."

"No, I'm not. Are you leaving?"

"Nope. Got no plans to leave." That was true. He'd made no plans beyond the confrontation. If things went well, what came next would take care of itself. If things didn't . . . . . he wouldn't have to worry about leaving. That reminded him. He'd better write out a wire to Pappy . . . . . just in case. He could leave it with Albie, to be sent in the event . . . . . . well, he wasn't going to think about that. It was a possibility, and he knew it. He'd just have to face it if the time came. "Bring her on in, Matt," he called to the boy in the corral. That was enough for today.

He'd given Matt a good basis to start with. Chris Hillis could finish the riding lessons if he weren't around for one reason or another. "Come on, Mary, lets's go have lunch. I'm starved."

XXXXXXXX

He was sitting in his office when Albie got in that evening. All the preparations were made; all he had to do now was hang on. For the first time in quite a while he wore his gun belt, the Colt loaded and ready to use if need be. The shoulder holster was on, too, and he could feel it pressing against his rib cage. And an extra piece of protection – Bret's derringer, slipped into the desk drawer underneath Sally's journal, which he'd brought with him.

Albie stuck his head in the door once Art had left for the day. "The job's done, boss. I put the envelope in his hand, just like you asked."

"Did he open it while you were there?"

"Nope, but once I left, I could hear him yellin' inside."

"Thanks, Albie. I appreciate everything you've done to help me. There's one more thing I need you to do." He picked up the telegram form he'd just completed and handed it to his bartender, along with enough money to send the wire. "If somethin' happens to me – send this, would ya?"

Albie looked at the telegram The message read:

 _To: Beauregard Maverick_

 _Little Bend, Texas_

 _Message: Sorry, Pappy_

 _I did my best._

 _Love you always, Bart_

"Boss?"

"Yeah, Albie?"

"Good luck."

"Thanks. Now get outta here. And don't come back in."

"Yes, sir."

The door closed behind the bartender. Bart sat there, waiting to hear the footsteps that he knew were coming. _'Stay with me, Brother Bret,'_ he thought. _'I need your patience tonight.'_


	27. They Died with Their Boots On

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 27 – They Died with Their Boots On

The saloon was busy but peaceful. No bar fights, no one accused of cheating at cards, nothing out of the ordinary. Bart got so tired of waiting for trouble that he actually sat down at a table and played poker. By two in the morning everyone had gone home, and he made the decision to close. The doors were locked, the floors were swept, the bar was set up for the next morning. He let Albie out the front doors and relocked them, then went back to his office to try and figure out what went wrong; why Orin Johnson hadn't shown up tonight. Maybe he hadn't opened the envelope? Bart found that hard to believe, yet here he sat, alone.

The building groaned and moaned in the wind that had kicked up outside; two or three times he heard noises that sounded like someone at the door, but they were nothing. At three a.m. he decided Johnson wasn't coming and pulled the journal and derringer out of the drawer. Just as he did that the front door creaked as it opened, and Bart put the journal back in the desk. He pocketed the derringer.

"I'm back here, Orin," he called, assuming the intruder to be the man he was waiting for. Boots walked softly across the wooden floor of the saloon, and his office door swung open. Johnson stood there with a sneer on his face and a gun in his hand, pointed at his manager. "I was beginnin' to think you weren't comin'."

"Now why ever would you think that?" Johnson questioned. "Your note made it quite clear what you were prepared to do if I didn't show up. Did you think I'd just let you go to the marshal with your evidence?"

"Nope," Bart answered. "I didn't figure you'd bring fifty-thousand dollars, either. But people surprise you sometimes. This isn't one of those times, is it?"

"No, Mr. Maverick, it isn't. You're right; I didn't bring fifty-thousand dollars. As a matter of fact, I didn't bring any money. But I did bring something for you. I don't think you're going to enjoy it quite as much as you would have the money."

"Now, Orin, you underestimate me. I'll enjoy whatever you brought. Unless it's bullets, of course. I'm not overly fond of those. Oh, I can see by the expression on your face, it is bullets, isn't it? I feel honored; you personally came to deliver them to me. Didn't do that for my brother, did you? Tell me, would you have killed him yourself if Hinkel hadn't been able to?"

Johnson walked into the office, leaving the door open behind him. "You don't give Robert enough credit, Maverick. He's quite resourceful when it comes to killing people. As a matter of fact, I've learned several things from him. For example, let's have that gun you've got strapped on. Just take it out and set it on the desk. And I've heard all about the shoulder holster, too, so let's have that one with it. That's it, now push them over to the other side of the desk. There now, don't you feel lighter?"

"What are you gonna accomplish, Johnson? Don't you think there are other people that know about Sally's journal? How many people are you gonna kill?"

"As many as I have to. But I don't think there'll be too many after you. That's the only evidence there is. And once that's gone it won't matter who knows what, they still won't have any proof. So why don't you just hand it over to me?"

"I don't have it anymore." Bart turned his chair to face Johnson, who'd walked further into the room. "Marshal Hillis has it. I took it down to him this afternoon."

The saloon owner laughed. "Good try, but no you didn't. Chris Hillis wasn't at the jail this afternoon. He spent most of it at Doctor Walters office and the rest at his boarding house. So that won't work. Besides, you have it here just in case I brought the money. So tell me, would you really have given it to me for fifty-thousand dollars? Is that what your brother's life was worth to you?"

Bart gripped the edge of the desk as tightly as he could. Anything to keep from trying to jump over it and strangle Orin Johnson. He had to play this nonchalant until he could gain control of the situation. "I didn't think I could get much more out of ya. It's not like he was some big-time businessman or anything. He was just a gambler, like me. I figured fifty-thousand dollars was about as high as you'd go."

"Hmmmmm. Practical. It's a shame we're on opposite sides, Maverick. I could use somebody like you. Robert is a little . . . . . . . one-dimensional, shall we say. You seem to be a lot more willing to bend with the wind. Maybe all that moral fiber in you really isn't so moral, after all, eh? What's your weakness? It certainly doesn't appear to be liquor or women. Money? Is that it? Maybe we're not as different as you think we are. Just what would you do for this much money?" To Bart's surprise, Johnson pulled a stack of money out of his coat pocket and threw it on the desk.

Bart picked it up. It wasn't fifty-thousand dollars; it was about half that amount. "So you did bring money. Not enough, but I suspect you already know that. Was this a down-payment, in case I seemed reasonable? Or did you figure I'd accommodate you for half of what I asked for?"

"Just what would you do for the other twenty-five thousand? Is there anything off-limits with you? If I'm buying, just what are you selling?"

"Anything short of murder. That I won't do. That's what you've got Robert for." Bart sat back in his chair and hooked his thumbs in his vest. The derringer was within inches in his vest pocket. "What did you have in mind?"

"Hinkel is the brawn. I need the brain. Robert has no finesse, he just bullies people into paying protection. You'd be much better at convincing them it was in their best interest to pay to keep their children safe."

Had Bart heard him right? "Children?"

"That's what this is all about, Maverick. The children. Anyone who has a business and a child pays protection money to keep that child safe. That's what your brother found out and was going to run and tell the marshal. He wasn't as amenable to working with me as you are. Oh, I tried. I offered him the same opportunity. He turned me down, so he had to go. What about you? You don't have the same problem, do you?"

' _Steady, son,_ ' the voice in his head told him. ' _Don't make the mistake I made. Play along.'_ "What's the deal, Orin? What are you offering?"

"I'll give you ten percent of every monthly payment you bring in. This town is growing. More businesses, more citizens, more families. More families, more children. More children, more money. It's a simple equation. Interested?"

"I might be. What happens if I can't . . . . . persuade people?"

Johnson laughed. "Robert steps in and . . . . . . convinces them to accept your offer."

"I see. How long have you been making this work, Orin?"

"Almost a year. Once they start paying it just becomes a monthly expense, like any other. Of course, there are always people that cause trouble. Like Clennon. But we have our ways of dealing with them."

Johnson had been so busy talking, so wrapped up in his story, that he hadn't heard someone enter the saloon and make their way quietly to the doorway into Bart's office. The man stood there, slowly drawing his gun out if its holster and aiming it dead center on Orin Johnson. Robert Hinkel continued glowering at his boss' backside.

"Was Sally part of the operation?" Bart was ready to spring the mouse-trap.

"Sally Bodeen? Oh my goodness, no. Sally wasn't bright enough for that."

"So why'd you kill Sally, Orin?"

Johnson laughed, an evil-sounding cackle. "Simple reason, really. Sally turned into a bore. _'Orin, don't kill Clennon. Orin, don't kill Maverick. Orin, don't burn down the newspaper.'_ Then she brings you out there to help give her the courage to do what she couldn't do on her own. In front of my servants, like some entitled dowager. She was nothing when I found her, and nothing when she left. Sally was a shrew, and it was time for her to die."

Without uttering a sound, Robert Hinkel cocked the hammer on his gun and fired, shooting Orin in the back. Johnson was dead before he hit the ground. Then Hinkel turned slightly and pointed the gun at Bart. "Sorry, Maverick," he took the time to say and shot. Bart fell sideways and the bullet grazed his arm just as he pulled the derringer from his vest and fired twice. Robert looked startled and dropped to the ground, mortally wounded. It wasn't until he'd hit the floor and Bart gazed up that he saw Albie and Chris Hillis standing in the saloon, watching from the doorway. They'd seen the whole thing.

Bart stared at the two men lying dead on the floor. Quite a pair, those two; both murderers. Orin Johnson and Robert Hinkel. _'It's over, Bret,'_ he thought, _'they're both dead.'_


	28. The Lazarus Effect

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 28 – The Lazarus Effect

"Doc, it's a scratch. It'll be fine."

Bart was more than ready to ignore the small blood-trail Robert Hinkel's bullet had left on his arm. All he wanted to do right now was go the marshal's office and give his statement, sign off on it, and go to sleep. The previous twenty-four hours had taken their toll on him and he felt ready to drop.

"I don't care. You can't afford to have an infection, can you? We're gonna treat this before you go runnin' off to the marshal's office. He'll wait until you get there. Besides, I've got more than enough work to do with those two pieces of . . . . . well, you know. I'd like to take care of the living first."

Bart looked down at Doc Walters and sighed. Why were medical men even more stubborn than he was? "Alright, but let's do this as quick as possible, huh? I want to get back to Mary and let her know it's all over."

"Yeah, yeah, just come with me. And don't give me a bad time or I'll insist on stitches."

"Oh, Lord, there's a crazy man masquerading as a doctor in this town. What's your next trick, pullin' rabbits out of hats?"

Doc Walters chuckled and shook his head. "Don't think I've got a hat that big, son."

Bart looked at the doctor like he WAS crazy. "When was the last time you got any sleep, Doc? You're not makin' any sense right now."

"I know. Just come down to my office, would ya?"

"Alright. Just so you'll let me go do my duty," the gambler responded.

Fifteen minutes later the wound was treated and Doc was wrapping a bandage around the arm. "Just a precautionary measure," he assured Bart, who was once again restless and eager to go get everything over with. Doc handed him his shirt, which he carefully slipped back on. "Now, before you run off to Chris's office, there's somebody here that heard about everything that happened and just wants to be sure you're alright."

Before Bart could protest that he was perfectly fine, Mary Clennon swept out of Doc's other exam room. "What are you doing here at this time of the mornin'?" was the first thing he asked.

"Bart Maverick, it's passed sunup. Did you think I would still be sleeping with all the gunfire going on? Why didn't you warn me what you had planned?" Mary's tone was somewhere between scolding and joyous.

"So you could tell me not to do it?" he laughed, relieved to hear the happy note in her voice. He got down off the exam table and buttoned his shirt. "Besides, if there was gonna be trouble I wanted you and Matt safely tucked in bed."

She slipped under his good arm and kissed his cheek. "You had quite a night."

He nodded in agreement. "But mine turned out a whole lot better than some people's did. Guess there's two more to add to the population on Boot Hill."

A familiar voice was heard behind him. "Yeah, but that's a net gain of only one, son."

Bart shook free of Mary and whirled around. He couldn't have heard what he just did. After all these weeks of Bret's voice being in his head, now he heard it as if his brother was in the room with him. And then he had to blink because Bret's voice WAS in the room with him. Along with the rest of his brother, looking thin and pale, but standing tall and straight.

Bart let out a yelp of "BRET!" and rushed forward, throwing his arms around the man he was certain he'd never see again. "OUCH!" was the older Maverick's reply, followed quickly by "Down, little brother!"

"Bret – how – I mean when – I mean, I saw your grave! Mary went to your funeral! How are you here?"

Doc spoke up while Bret tried to free himself from his brother's embrace so he could sit down. "Let the man rest, Bart. He hasn't been out of a sick bed in weeks. I'll explain everything."

Bart guided his brother to a chair, then sat next to him. He kept a hand on Bret at all times, trying his best to prove to himself that the man in front of him was really Bret Maverick and not a figment of his imagination. "I can't – I don't – it makes no sense. How are you – Mary! You told me he was dead!" Without letting go of Bret, he turned to the woman he'd lived with for several weeks. "You went to the funeral!"

Finally, Bret spoke up. His voice was weak and scratchy, but it was definitely his brother. "She didn't know. Nobody but Doc did. Doc, tell him."

Bart was still beside himself. "How, Doc? How?"

"Remember what I told you when you asked questions about how Bret died? _'He was gone by the time I got there. Shot in the chest – probably died instantly.'_ That was the truth. Far as I could tell, he was dead. So I had him taken down to my office and darned if I didn't find out I was wrong! He was breathin' – barely, but breathin.' He waggled back and forth for days – I was never sure if he was gonna quit on me or not. When Hillis came to get the body and the burial done, I just used the latest unclaimed corpse I had in the coffin. Nobody checked so nobody knew. By the time it looked like he was gonna make it you were already here, and I'd told the tale of his death. That's why I didn't have his gun to give you – we thought it best he hang on to that, just in case. Today's only the second time he's been up since the day he was shot – but we couldn't let you hang in the dark any longer, with Johnson and Hinkel both dead.

"You have no idea how guilty I've felt all these weeks, watchin' you grieve over a brother I knew was alive – but it was the best thing I could do for him. I had to get him well. I'm truly sorry, Bart. That's why I insisted you come down here for that scratch – we both knew it was safe to tell you the truth. I hope you'll forgive me some time."

Bart stood up and walked across the room to Doc. Tears glistened in his eyes. "You sneaky old man – thank you! Thank you for givin' me back my brother. It's the best gift I ever could have gotten!" And against Doc's protests Bart hugged the man that had saved Bret's life. He returned almost immediately to his brother's side.

"I want to hear everything," Bret managed. "But you need to go to the marshal's office and I gotta go back to bed. Bein' dead is hard work, especially when you almost are." He rested his hand on his younger brother's arm. "You did good work, Bart. Smart work. Maverick work. I'm damned proud of ya!" And they embraced again, but this time Bart was more than aware of how fragile his brother really was.

Bart turned his head to look at Mary, who was beaming. "Doc's right – you do look like each other!" She slipped under Bret's arm and helped him stand. "I'm taking this one back to bed. Matt's going to be so excited to find out his Uncle Bret is just as alive as his Uncle Bart!"

"Uncle Bart?" Bret asked, with laughter in his voice.

"Well, somebody had to teach that boy to ride."

Bret wrapped his arm around Bart's neck and pulled his brother close. "I'm sorry, son. I'm sorry you had to go through all those weeks. If there'd been any other way – "

"It doesn't matter, Bret. Nothin' matters but you bein' here, and alive. Nothin'." Bart held onto his brother for dear life, knowing just how close he'd come to losing the one stable force in his existence forever. They stood there for long minutes, both overcome with the emotion of being reunited, until Bart finally pulled back and grinned. "I love ya, Pappy."


	29. Westward Bound

Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 29 – Westward Bound

"So that's a reasonable account of everything that happened last night?" Marshal Hillis was determined to have all his reports as accurate as possible, and this one was no exception.

"Yep, that's good," Bart answered. "How are you gonna explain the man up on Boot Hill?"

"What else? 'Unknown Cowboy' works for me. Can't leave the marker up that says 'Bret Maverick'."

"No, I don't want any of those around where they don't belong."

The marshal shook his head. "Guess I know who's best at keepin' a secret around these parts. Doc sure had all of us fooled."

"It makes sense, though. If word got around, Johnson or Hinkel would'a come lookin' for Bret, and finished the job."

"Yep, then there'd be a lot more than just two dead."

"At least you don't have to worry about needin' more evidence to arrest 'em."

Hillis laughed. "Don't rub it in. They're gone and you're in the clear. Maybe this town can get back to normal, now. I owe you a debt of gratitude," and he offered his hand to Bart.

The gambler took it. "In more ways than one. Mary Clennon needs some time, Marshal, but she's got no interest in me. It's you she was worried about."

"Are you serious?"

Maverick's turn to laugh. "Yep. You're gonna hafta finish the riding lessons with Matt, though. He doesn't need much more; I tried to give him all the basics."

"You leavin' town that fast?"

"Soon as Doc gives Bret the all clear to travel. I got what I came for, and more than I expected. No reason to stay."

"You could run Sally's. You're pretty good at that. I been wrong about a lotta things in my life; you're one of 'em. This town would be real lucky to have you here."

"Thanks, Marshal. I appreciate that, but I've already got a business partner in Reno if he still wants me. I'm takin' Bret back there with me. Reno's a good place to recuperate."

"You know there's a reward for catchin' the men responsible for the bombin's."

"That money goes to Mary. She's gonna rebuild the paper. I think she decided she likes havin' a business. She's gonna need your help."

The marshal grinned and looked about as happy as Bart had ever seen him look. "Yep. And I'll be glad to give it to her." He turned towards the gambler, the man that changed Dodge City for the better. "Thanks, Maverick. For everything you did here. And I'm glad you got your brother back."

"Me too, Marshal. Me too."

Bart left the jail and walked to Doc Walter's office. "Doc," he called as he came in, and Doc hurried out, much like he had the first time the gambler showed up.

"Well, that was fast," Doc remarked.

"Yeah, I think Hillis was in a hurry to get me outta there once I told him I was leavin' town."

"When are you goin'?"

"That's what I came to ask," Bart explained. 'Can't go anywhere until you give Bret the okay to travel. So, how long will that be, Doc?"

"By train?"

Bart nodded. "Yeah. Stagecoach is too rough."

"I'd be real pleased if you'd wait a week."

The gambler nodded again. "And if you weren't real pleased?"

"Four, five days at the earliest. You saw him this mornin'. Gettin' up and gettin' dressed was almost too much for him. Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I got three words for you. Chris, Mary, and Matt. They don't need me lookin' over their shoulders. Good enough?"

Doc broke into a big smile. "Good for Chris. And Mary. And the boy. That'll be a good match. You sure about it?"

"Oh yeah. And Mary's gonna rebuild the paper. This town needs a good paper, and she's got it in her blood now."

"Is that the only reason you're itchin' to get outta here?"

"I've been here too long, Doc. I need to go. The family calls it 'Maverick Wanderlust.' Too long in one place never bodes well for us. Bret's just the same. Bet he was drivin' you crazy with travelin' stories."

"He's got a lot of 'em, that's for sure. Don't you all get tired of movin' around?"

"Nope. I've never seen anyplace that made me wanna stay. Maybe someday I will. Till then I pack light and hit the road when I wear out my welcome. Which is a lot faster in some towns than others. So whatta ya say, Doc? Three days?"

"Five."

"How about four?"

"Alright. Four days. He needs the time, Bart."

"Understood, Doc. How is he?"

"He's resting. Go on back there and see him."

Bart went through the exam area and into the room Doc had kept Bret alive in. There was a bed, and a dresser, and two chairs, and not much else. Bret's clothes were hung neatly on one of the chairs, his boots sitting on the floor next to the wall. He was asleep, the covers pulled almost up to his chin. A stack of books sat on the ground next to the bed, and Bart picked up the top one. 'A Tale of Two Cities' by Bart's favorite author, Charles Dickens. He put the book back on the stack, surprised and a little pleased. There was a cough from the man in the bed and Bart pulled the empty chair over and sat down.

"Doc?"

"No, Bret, it's me. How ya feelin'?"

Bret's eyes slowly opened. "Bart?" The voice was scratchy and rough, and Bart wondered what had happened to make it that way.

"Yeah. Got everything done at the marshal's office. Hillis is glad you're alive. Gonna take your name off the marker on the hill. Thought I'd come by and see how you're feelin'."

"Tired."

Bart understood that feeling perfectly. He'd been shot enough to know how long it took to recover under the best of circumstances, and this bullet wound had caused a lot more damage than that. "You go back to sleep then. Just rest and take it easy. I'll be back later to check in on ya. Maybe tomorrow I can bring Matt by to see you for himself."

"Matty?" Bret asked sleepily.

"Matt, now. I taught him to ride and gave him a new name. He seems to like it."

"Good boy," Bret mumbled, and Bart wasn't sure if his brother meant Matt or him.

For once he brushed the hair off Bret's face, instead of the other way around. Then he leaned over and kissed his brother on the forehead, and a slight smile creased the mouth of the man in bed. So many times it had been Bart that was injured or sick, with Bret standing watch over him.

He left Doc's place and headed back to Mary's house. Matt was at school and Mary wasn't home, so Bart finally got to lay down and get some rest. And at last he truly slept, no longer worried about anything that Orin Johnson or Robert Hinkel could do to harm any of the friends he'd made. Or, more importantly, his brother.

XXXXXXXX

He woke when Matt came home from school and got out of bed. "Uncle Bart! Is it true? Is Uncle Bret really alive?" were the first things that he was asked by the very excited boy.

"Yep, Mister Clennon, it sure is true. Your Uncle Bret is just as alive as I am. Matter of fact he wants to see you tomorrow and hear all about you learnin' to ride a horse. You up for that?"

"Sure am. Boy, I've got so much to tell him! Say, if Uncle Bret is alive, does that mean that my daddy could be alive too?" There was such a note of hope in Matt's voice that Bart hated to give him an answer.

"I wish he was, Matt, but he's not. I'm sorry."

The boy was downcast but got over it quickly. "Why didn't Uncle Bret come home with you?"

"Well, Matt, he was hurt pretty bad when he was shot. Doc had to keep him at the office to take care of him and keep him safe. But he's gettin' better now, and we'll go see him."

"Did that book I gave you help?"

"It sure did. I couldn't have solved the puzzle we had without it."

Matt nodded solemnly and went off to do his lessons for school. Mary came home and was glad to see Bart there and awake. "We never got to have that talk about the newspaper."

Bart chuckled softly. "I don't think we should talk about it, Mary. I think there's somebody else you should talk to."

Mary blushed. "You mean Chris?"

"Yep."

"It's too soon after I lost Taylor."

"We've had this conversation before, Mary. Talk to Chris as a friend, if that works better. He's got a good heart, and he'll help."

"Mmmmmmmm. I know you're right. Maybe I should invite him for supper."

"I think that's a good idea. Why don't you do it now? I'm sure he's tired of sittin' in that boardin' house he lives in. I'm goin' back to see Bret. I'll be back late."

"You're not going to stay in Dodge, are you?"

"Nope. Soon as Bret can travel, we'll be goin'."

"Why do I have a feeling we won't see you again?"

"Oh, no. We'll be back in Dodge some time. You can't get rid of us that easy."

XXXXXXXX

"So how many cards do you want?" Bart asked his brother.

"Two."

"Here's your two. Dealer takes one."

Bret looked at his hand. He had two pair, but he was sure Bart had a better hand. Whoever dealt got to cheat, that was the agreement between everyone in the family. 'So when are we leavin'?"

"Now how do you know we're leavin'?"

"Because I'm sure you've already talked to Doc Walters about it."

"Maybe I have, maybe I haven't."

Bret laughed and then coughed. His lungs still weren't fully healed from the trauma of catching a bullet in the chest. "When?"

Bart nonchalantly laid down a full house. "Four or five days."

"He got you to agree to stay that long?"

"Doc drives a hard bargain."

"He told me three if we go by train."

Bart laughed out loud as Bret shuffled the cards. "That old reprobate. He was pullin' my leg."

"Say, did you ever tell Pappy I was dead?"

"Nope."

"Afraid to?"

The younger Maverick nodded. "You bet. He would've blamed me for not knowing instinctively that you needed help. Which reminds me. Next time ya get in trouble would ya please find me so I can come help?"

"Well, how was I supposed to know I was gonna get killed?"

"Long as you don't stay dead."

"I'll try not to."

"Thank you."

XXXXXXXX

Four days later they waited at the station for the westbound train to Reno to start loading. Mary and Matt were there, along with Chris, Doc Walters, and Albie. Wonder of wonders, Sally had a will, and she'd left her share of the saloon ownership to Albie. Since Orin Johnson had no relatives, Albie was now the sole owner of 'Sassy Sally's' He insisted the name remain the same, in honor of Miss Sally Bodeen.

Mary had consulted Chris about her plans to rebuild the paper, and he was all for it. They talked about a life together in the future and decided there was plenty of time for them to get there. Chris took Matt fishing, and they rode there on horseback. Bret gave the mare to Matt so he would have his own mount.

"All aboard for Reno," the conductor called, and Bret and Bart said their goodbyes and boarded the train. "Will we ever see Uncle Bret and Uncle Bart again?" the recently renamed Matt asked his mother.

"Yes, sir, we surely will. They'll be back to Dodge City again," Mary Clennon answered. "Maybe next time for a happier occasion," she added, as she looked at Chris Hillis and smiled.

"Are you goin' into business with Declan Savoy?" Bret asked his brother as they settled in their seats.

"I'm not doin' anything until you're well," came the immediate reply. "Then we'll see where things stand." Something was bothering him, and he wasn't quite sure what it was. He thought about what he'd told Doc Walters a few days ago _: "I've never seen anyplace that made me wanna stay. Maybe someday I will. Till then I pack light and hit the road when I wear out my welcome."_

Was there really a place like that somewhere in this country?

The End

Next: Come See the Paradise


End file.
